


Feed Your Head

by knife_pdf



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alice In Wonderland AU, M/M, Multi, Reddie Centric, its in depth too, none of the losers die though!, so basically the plot of 2010 alice, with the characters of IT!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knife_pdf/pseuds/knife_pdf
Summary: “You’re here!” Richie gushes. Eddie stares at him--he could have sworn that Richie’s eyes had been sky-colored, but now they are darker. Richie continues to speak. “I’m Richie, the Hatter. Sometimes folks like to call me Trashmouth. Come, come, have some tea.”Before Eddie can say anything, Richie’s grabbed his hand and is leading him to the chair directly to the left of Richie's. Eddie swallows. Hesitantly, he says, “We’ve met before.”Richie beams at him. His hands clap together rapidly. “Yes, yes! I knew you would remember! We met the last time you were here, when we weakened the Gray King. Of course, we were all only kids then, Michael here hardly even a leveret!” He guffaws; buck teeth pop out of his smile slightly. “Would you like some tea?”Eddie is barely able to nod before Richie is pouring him a cup and sliding it over. “I...remember now...my dreams…” He closes his eyes, remembering the vague familiarity that has haunted him since he fell down the rabbit hole.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45





	1. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer, of course: I do not own IT or Alice in Wonderland (of any kind). This will contain aspects of IT from both the novel and the Muschietti films as well as the Lewis Carroll books and Tim Burton movie! I'm trying to do as much of an even mix that I can :)

Edward Kaspbrak does not want to get married. He never has. Getting married is probably, in fact, the last thing he wants to do.

But his father’s wealth is slipping. His mother can’t handle it all, could barely handle it when his father was still alive. He didn’t really have a choice in the negotiations. Yes, he had met Myra Allen, and yes, he thought of her as nice, but, well, to put it simply: he is not attracted to her. His mother had doomed him into a marriage where he would most likely come to resent his wife, just for the pretty penny of Myra’s dowry.

The carriage ride to the Allen Estate is nearly unbearable. His mother fusses with everything about him—his hair, his cravat, even making sure the buttons on his morning coat nearly gleamed in the afternoon light. Eddie’s eyes stay neatly trained on the misty forest that bounces by; his hands rest delicately on the black top hat resting in his lap. Instinctively, his fingers slide down to the thin strip of dark red silk tied snugly around the base of the hat. His mother immediately smacks his hand away.

 _Don’t fidget_ , she chides, _fidgeting is unattractive_.

 _Maybe I don’t want to be attractive_ , he thinks to himself. He knows what his mother would say—the marriage will be good for them, it will boost them out of the trouble they were in, she could hire help and stop straining herself so much, she could take care of him. Being taken care of makes the idea of jumping out of the carriage so much more appealing. It’s becoming stifling in here with her incessant dialogue.

The carriage pulls to a stop just as his mother is reaching a snatching hand out to fix the stick pin on his cravat. The pin is polished gold, with a thin bird perched at the top; mother of pearl inlaid the wings, a small accent to show the flight of the bird. It had belonged to his father.

Maybe, once, his father had been dragged to a party like this, with the negotiations for a marriage he didn’t want already set in place for him and only the formal niceties left to perform.

Eddie set his top hat on his head. He is set to propose to Myra Allen, and soon. His mother bustles out of the carriage. Her arm immediately slips into his— _hold onto me, Edward dear; your poor mother is so feeble and I know you’re ill but I need your help._

He’s not looking forward to any of it.

* * *

Myra’s father, Hamish, brushes them off, snippy at having been just a few minutes late, before Eddie finally disentangles himself from his mother to find the woman they were insistent that he would come to love.

She’s quite beautiful, yes, but Eddie finds she stirs nothing in him. Her brown eyes latch onto his, both of them tired from the early start, and he makes his way to her. She’s clad in a soft yellow day dress that doesn’t seem to fit her curves the right way. Her blonde hair is piled high on the top of her head—one wrong move looks like it will topple her over. He nods when he sees her, makes his pleasantries. Her hand slides into his to begin a quadrille with the rest of the dance floor that had been splayed out in the impressive yard.

Eddie’s gaze slips up to the sky. The movements of his body are so well rehearsed, he doesn’t need to think about them. Instead, as a gaggle of birds drifts silently by, his own mind works to think of what it would be like for a human to fly. Would a flying human have wings? Would the wings be their arms or on their backs, like so called angels? How much energy would it take to fly to the Allen estate from his home and back? And what—

His thoughts are cut off abruptly as he slams into another man. He blinks, unsteady but not disoriented, as he takes in the scene. The man stares at him—Eddie is at fault. He scrambles for an excuse.

“Terribly sorry,” Myra jumps in, grasping Eddie’s hand once more, “his head is a bit in the clouds today.” And before the man can respond, she sweeps Eddie away once more. Malicious eyes plant firmly on him. “What has gotten into you?”

“I...was thinking what it would be like to fly,” he speaks softly, prepared for the onslaught to follow.

“Really, Edward, I see why your mother thinks you would lose your head if it weren’t attached to you.”

 _I’d rather lose my head than be with my mother_ , he thinks glumly.

A glance to his pocket watch snaps his jaw shut. He looks at Myra. It’s 20 minutes to noon, their scheduled time. “Meet me at the gazebo at noon?” The quality of his voice doesn’t seem like him; it’s stiff, clunky; he could only hope his dissatisfaction didn’t show through. Myra nods. Her smile lights up her face in a way Eddie can’t be bothered to notice. He gives her one brisk nod before stepping away. His feet guide him to the garden and hedges that sprawled over the western half of the estate. He slips easily out of sight from the crowd.

The gardens calm him. The heady scent of roses begins to unwind the knots in his shoulders.

“Oh, drat. The gardeners planted white roses when my wife asked for red,” Hamish Allen’s voice says close behind him. Eddie’s heart leaps into his throat.

Knots are wound back up.

He tries to give Myra’s father a calm smile, but worries that the anxious twitch in his eye will expose him. “You could always paint the roses red,” he remarks. His gaze swings back around to the roses.

“...What a truly peculiar thing to say, Edward. Come, take a walk with me.” Hamish begins a stride that isn’t too difficult for Eddie to keep up. He begins with a simple spiel, about Myra being a delicate soul with many worries that Eddie would have to do his best to absolve. Eddie bites his tongue— _I have enough anxieties from my mother to worry about,_ he nearly snaps. But he doesn’t, because he couldn’t ruin this for her. A rustling in the line of flowers grabs his attention. The perception of Hamish Allen’s words slip away from him as he stares intently at the white flash slipping between the plants.

“There’s a rabbit,” Eddie says when Hamish comes to a lull.

“Oh. I’ll have to set the dogs on it tomorrow.” Such a harsh response takes Eddie by surprise. He schools his expression quickly, though, and merely nods. His thick brows furrow when snatches of blue and red and glinting gold appear through the bushes. Hamish says parting words before leaving Eddie to think.

The rabbit hops out in front of Eddie. It’s wearing a waistcoat, he realizes, with a pocket watch gleaming in its hand. Eddie can only stare at the rabbit for just a moment; it turns its head and looks at him before hopping away. Initially, his feet step to the rabbit, but his sense reminds him to check the clock. Eleven fifty six. He needs to be at the gazebo, and soon.

By the time he arrives, Myra is already standing there. The entire crowd is there, chatting amongst themselves, and a painter is already beginning to embellish Myra onto a canvas. Eddie swallows, a lump forming in his throat. The box his mother had slid him is burning a hole in his pocket. His walk is casual, but his mind is anything but. The numbness in his extremities only mildly worries him—a first. He kneels in front of Myra. She smiles, but his face is a steely cool expression.

“Myra,” he says simply. “I’m expected to ask...” His eye, and therefore attention, slip from her. The rabbit—one he had been convinced was a hallucination at first—stands just outside of the crowd’s sight. It stares Eddie down, stern, before holding up the pocket watch and tapping it.

“Ask what?” Myra prompts. Eddie looks back at her. Everyone in this garden expects him to focus on her, to make her life perfect and smooth, even though her parents could easily do that. Bated breath surrounds him on all sides. This hesitation _shouldn’t_ be here, the confused stares practically shout. Anger begins to broil in Hamish Allen’s eyes, a rage over embarrassing his daughter and family. Eddie knows what he has to do. He has to pull the ring out and simply ask her a question, one she will say yes to, one that will set up the rest of their lives.

He doesn’t want the rest of his life set up for him.

He clears his throat. “I...I need a moment.”

And then he’s running.

* * *

He’s too fast for anyone else to risk following him, but the rabbit is just a smidge faster. Eddie’s legs pump, almost nothing when compared to the fact that Eddie enjoys running for sport, but stray branches whip at his face and arms as he chases the rabbit through a hazy grey wood. He sinks to his knees in front of a large hole at the root of a gnarled, twisted tree. The rabbit had been here, and now it isn’t. No movement comes from up ahead or his sides. That bizarrely familiar rabbit must have gone down here. He peers down into the hole. Something in the dirt where he is holding gives way. The root of the tree recedes, like it wants him to fall.

He can barely inhale deep enough to scream when he tumbles headfirst into the hole.

* * *

His hands scramble for any type of purchase, but the walls of the hole are too far apart. A deep root slaps his arm. His hands clench around it, only for it to rip through his grasp and leave his hands a stinging, bloody mess. A delirious laugh bubbles through him—it startles him, the loud noise that comes from _him_ , when usually he tries _so_ hard to be quiet, because quiet is _safe_ , quiet means mother doesn’t _cry_. He clasps his hands over his mouth, only to scream and yank them away when the blood touches his tongue. The pit that had formed in his stomach begins to loosen, knot by knot; he seems like he’s slowing down. Or at least like there’s still such a long way to go that it doesn’t matter. His eyes scrape across the walls, flying past him at a rate that almost makes him nauseous. Lopsided stacks of books look ready to topple over; mismatched furniture is strewn about randomly; it looks like a lost and found, but the original owners would never find their lost items here. A gasp shuddered through him when a grand piano stutters on its footing and crashes down towards him. Dimly, he is aware of the chromatic scale that issues from it, but his terror overrides his senses. It takes him several minutes to realize that the piano has essentially vanished, so far above him that it doesn’t make sense.

He presses his hat tightly to his chest. The silk is grounding to him, the band of ribbon his father tied to it so long ago reminds him that things will be okay. He tries to steady his breathing—this is a dream, that’s all. A dream that came from pre-proposal nerves. He would wake up soon and go to the Allen estate.

After falling for an eternity, Eddie lands with a solid thump onto a checkered floor. He sits up, dazed, but a fall from that height should have killed him, should have broken all of his bones. A dream, however, wouldn’t kill him. It would mess with his head, yes, but he wouldn’t be dead. He fits his hat to his head as he stands. Quickly, he observes his hands; scraped, yes, but the bleeding seems to have stopped. Dried blood flakes off of his skin. He tries not to focus on how _intense_ , how _real_ and _lifelike_ the pain had been.

His gaze turns to focus on the round, ivory table set in the center of the room. It is gilded in gold, with a bronze key sitting in the center of it. The key is barely the size of his index finger, he realizes. Eddie looks around the circular room; doors were installed roughly every foot, of different shapes and sizes, with a dark blue curtain covering the wall to his left. He snatches up the key, hissing when the movement stings his hands, and begins to check the doors. No such luck. He comes to the curtain, at last, and flicks it aside impatiently. The door hidden beneath it comes to his shin. Setting his jaw and filled with irritation at this absurd dream, he gets on his knees and shoves the key into the hole there. The lock clicks and the door swings open, revealing a glimpse of a lush environment with foreboding grey clouds.

He sits back on his heels, trying to calm himself down, before he snaps. He shuts the door, yanks the key out, and paces back over to the table. On the table is a green glass vial that bells out at the top, the size of Eddie’s middle finger. Attached to it is a thin strip of parchment that reads, in a thick, loopy scrawl, ‘Drink me.’ Eddie scoops up the vial. Mother always said that he should never accept food from strangers, lest he get poisoned. But this is a dream, and no harm could surely come from it, right? Despite his every instilled instinct screaming not to open the bottle, his curiosity gets the better of him. He flips the cork out easily. His takes a deep whiff of the liquid inside; it smells bitter and strong, like pure alcohol. There’s a different smell hidden behind the other ones, though, that gives him pause—just a hint of florals. Maybe rose alcohol? He hesitates for just a moment, the key tucked snugly into the pocket of his morning coat, before he downs the vial.

His face screws up in disgust; the liquid doesn’t have the same burn as alcohol, but is certainly bitter enough to bother his tongue. After a moment, his mouth floods with a cool sensation, like he just sucked on a mint leaf. He sets the vial down. His legs begin to walk towards the small door before he realizes that they’re getting shorter and he’s getting much, much closer to the ground. Immediately, his hands fly up to grab at his hat and keep it snugly on him. His arms are swallowed up by his morning coat, though, and fear slips through him that he might end up naked. Once it feels like he’s done shrinking, now about a foot and a half tall, he pulls himself out of the swathes of his coat. Thankfully, he is left with his pants, undershirt, cravat and pin, and, most of all, his hat. He climbs over the hills of velvet to snatch the key from his pocket. It's just the right size in his new, small hand. He shoves it into the door and it clicks, the door sliding open without him even needing to push it.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the riot of colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from the Jefferson Airplane song! hopefully i'll be able to update regularly. you can find me on twitter @tozier_xo and my smau on twitter @derry_ghosts  
> Feel free to leave feedback and any criticisms you feel I should hear!


	2. It's Only The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying SO hard to not post all of these at once, so this is to tide me over as much as you...   
> (chapter title is a lyric from Shinedown's "Her Name Is Alice")

“Y-you were alm-muh-most late!” the white rabbit exclaims. He stands tall, different now from when Eddie saw him in the garden. He’s more man than rabbit now, with a human face and body but the tail, ears, nose, and whiskers of a rabbit. The fur that covers his rabbit parts is the same snow white color, although a tuft of hair on the top of his head is more of a bronze. He sniffs towards Eddie; his brown eyes flicker with disdain. 

“Late to what?” Eddie demands. He crosses his arms. Peering up at this rabbit—the average height of a man—while he’s so small sets him on the edge of his nerves. If just the rabbits are this size, what else could be bigger? What threats would Eddie face? 

“You’ve a m-m-meeting with St-Stanley that you must u-u-uphold. C-come this w-w-w-way.” He waves towards Eddie like Eddie is a naughty child going to his punishment. 

“Is it him, Bill?” a small voice asks from behind the rabbit. The rabbit, Bill, sighs and steps to the side. Eddie’s brows furrow deeply when he sees two short (for a normal height person), fat boys with round faces that look up excitedly at Bill, and a man a few inches taller than Bill with mouse-like ears and nose, and a tail. 

“Is he the right Eddie?” one of the fat boys chirps; his voice sounds exactly the same as the last question, but Eddie isn’t quite so sure that the same boy asked. 

Instead of asking just why these strange, deja vu inducing characters know his name, Eddie blurts, “Who are you?”

The boys look at him first and grin impishly. “I’m Georgiedum,” the one on the right introduces. He stands up as proudly as he can manage and flourishes his hand against his chest. 

The one on the left speaks so quickly it nearly sounds like the same sentence. “Contrariwise, I’m Georgiedee.” He bows deeply. 

“My name is Benjamin,” the mouse man greets. He smiles softly, like he’s afraid to take up too much space. “But you can call me Ben.” 

“I’m B-B-Bill,” the rabbit stutters. He says nothing more, just gestures to follow him. Georgiedee and Georgiedum waddle over to stand on either side of Eddie, as if to box him in. Eddie clenches his jaw at the proximity. His legs, however, follow Bill. 

They don’t walk for long, truly, but Eddie is too busy absorbing the sights to notice. Trees tower high into the sky, full and flowing and stretching out like the roots were put on top instead of the branches. Flowers with faces swivel this way and that, craning their elastic necks to peer at Eddie, all the while chatting quietly amongst themselves. Strange bugs—a rocking horse fly, a stick of butter fly—drift over and around the group. Rustling in the grass makes Eddie feel like he’s being watched. 

Ben stops abruptly, cutting off his conversation with Bill, which causes Eddie to run right into him. Eddie immediately scrambles back; apologies slip through his tight lips. 

Ben grins brightly. “It’s okay. My bad. We should have told you we were going to be here soon.” 

Eddie just nods. His cheeks and neck flush with embarrassment. Finally, he turns to look at the sight Bill and Ben had both stepped aside to let Eddie see. 

Perched upon a thick toadstool is another man, with long legs and a head of curly black hair. Poking out of the top of his head are two blue caterpillar tentacles, and just beside his lips rest an antenna on either side, both as blue as the tentacles. His face is oval shaped and sallow, with a hooked nose and dark brown, nearly black, eyes. A thin hand brings a hookah pipe to the man’s lips. He inhales deeply before puffing out blue smoke in the shape of O’s. Eddie coughs, his hand coming up to wave the smoke away. 

“And who are you?” the man drawls. His voice, despite being deep, is smooth and even. 

“Stanley?” Eddie asks. 

The man sighs peevishly before taking another inhale. He blows it back out of the side of his mouth as he speaks. “You’re not Stanley, I’m Stanley. I asked,  _ who _ are  _ you _ ?” 

“I’m Edward Kaspbrak. Why am I here?” 

“Do you think you're  _ the  _ Eddie?” Stanley asks quickly, almost without thinking. He lifts a bored looking eyebrow. 

“I don’t know if I’m  _ the _ Eddie, but I certainly am  _ an _ Eddie. What does it matter?” Eddie’s arms cross over his chest. He can feel his irritation and rage beginning to swell up in his body. 

Once again, Stanley ignores his question. His eyes pin themselves to Bill. “Consult the Luscina.”

Bill nods. He pulls out a thin, blue, leather bound book and sets it on a toadstool low enough for Eddie to see. Eddie instantly is there. He reaches a hesitant hand out, and then opens the book when Bill nods him on. 

On the creamy parchment, in thick lined, colorless drawings, is a clear drawing of the four of them standing around the Luscina, with Stanley to the side. Eddie’s eyes flick between the book and Stanley, watching as the drawing Stanley inhales and exhales at the same times that the real Stanley does. Apprehension blooms in his chest—a dream shouldn’t be this complicated. 

“Today is Shriggins Day, in honor of the Gray King,” explains Ben quietly. “The Luscina is the calendar for all of Underry.”

_ Underry _ , Eddie thinks.  _ Something about that name is familiar.  _

“Flip to the Frabjous Day,” Stanley commands through another plume of smoke. 

“Y-yes, Fuh-fuh-Frabjous Day,” Bill repeats. He glides his hand over the pages to reveal a knight propping up a long spear with a dangerously sharp point. In front of the knight is a terrible creature, a humongous and disjointed thing, almost like a centaur but a spider instead--the top half is man, a limber stomach and chest and a large head with tufts of hair that stick out the sides and a hude, painted on smile (colorless in the Luscina, but Eddie isn’t sure if he  _ wants _ to see the color of it) pulled back to reveal sharp teeth; the bottom half is the abdomen of a spider covered in ruffles of clothing, with three pairs of legs attached to it. Its arms are long, one hand being gloved with nightmarish claws and the other having been transformed into a thick talon that is wedged into the stone ruins they stand upon for traction. Viscous drool dribbles down the Pennywise’s chin. Eddie bites into his bottom lip as he watches the knight launch the spear into the roaring mouth of the creature, the knight’s head of wild, unmanaged hair flying in the invisible wind. 

Eddie’s heart speeds up with terror when he recognizes the mop of hair on the knight— _ his _ mop of hair, when he wakes up in the mornings and hasn’t styled it yet.

“What is it?” he demands in a low growl. 

Stanley’s lips quirk up on one side, like Eddie has said something amusing to him. “It is the day you are to slay the Pennywise.”

“ _ Slay _ ? I don’t slay.” 

“Nobody said you were going to do it alone,” Stanley replies, hearing an unspoken  _ alone _ attached to the end of Eddie’s sentence. 

“I don’t slay at all,” Eddie replies. His jaw is set. 

“Maybe not now. After all, you’re just hardly the Eddie you need to be. But in two month’s time, when the Pennywise rises and needs to be slain and the Gray King needs to be overthrown, perhaps you’ll be up to the task.” Stanley blows his smoke into Eddie’s face. 

“Will you  _ stop that _ ?” Eddie snaps. His rage, usually so well-checked by demands on his mother, bubbles over. “If you’re going to smoke at least have the decency to  _ not _ blow it in my face! And it is  _ not _ up to you what I do or don’t do in my future, not you or anyone else!” 

Stanley observes him for a moment. Dee and Dum clasp their hands behind their backs in anxiety. Bill looks ready to combust in fear. Shock is written across Ben’s face. 

And then, Stanley laughs. 

It is smooth, a rumble in his chest, and not without mirth. Stanley shakes his head. “You will come to realize, Edward, just how important your own decisions are to your future.” He pulls from the hookah again. Bill slides the Luscina back to Stanley. 

“Now go. Before I unsettle you any more.” Stanley’s hand waves then away impatiently. Bill simply nods and begins to walk to their left. 

* * *

Eddie picks his way through the overgrowth. His short legs aren’t set up for this; hell, his normal legs probably wouldn’t be set up for them, either. With Dee and Dum on either side of him, though, he feels a bit more confident that he won’t fall. His eyes flicker around the woods—it’s bright, without the grey fog that settled on the Allen estate earlier that day—with bundles of green ivy crawling up nearly every tree and moss growing on the odd stone ruins that are scattered haphazardly. Wildflowers, ones that don’t talk, preen upwards towards a sky with foreboding clouds in the distance. The sun warms him between patches of shade from the twisted and gnarled trees sprawling upwards. Once, Eddie trips over a root, but quickly Dee and Dum scoop him back onto his feet. 

Bill and Ben stop suddenly. Eddie catches himself this time before he runs into them. Ben’s head is turned to their left; his nose twitches as he sniffs out whatever is distracting him. His hand shoots out and grabs Bill’s upper arm. 

“Bowers. He’s got the Rodichan with him—it’ll find us, we have to go,” Ben says quickly. He begins to run. Dee and Dum are already panting less than a minute into the run while Eddie is doing all that he can to keep up. 

A screech shocks him out of his skin. He trips and falls over a root. As quick as he can, he flips to see the terror coming down on him. 

It’s a giant bird, with feathers as black as night and a razor sharp dark grey beak. It opens its beak to reveal rows of needle-pointed teeth and a long, thin tongue with barbs on both sides. Another shriek echoes in Eddie’s ears. Strong hands yank him several feet away from the bird before it’s able to strike. Its beak gets lodged a few inches into the ground. It grunts as it tries to pull free. 

For those few precious seconds, Eddie watches in fear as Ben launches himself onto the neck of the bird. 

His movements are quick, fluid with practiced ease. He manages to rip a long, sharp rapier out of its sheath before he plunges it into the bird’s eye. At this point, it’s managed to free itself, and throws itself around wildly with more furious and pained screams. Ben slides easily from its back onto the ground, the eye skewered on his sword and feathers sticking against his clothes. He moves faster than Eddie had thought possible. He grabs Eddie’s forearm and pulls him up. A yelp escapes him when Ben throws Eddie over his shoulder to carry him without hesitation. 

* * *

Ben runs at a steady pace for several minutes before finally slowing down. He drops Eddie beside him. Practiced movements have him attaching the eye to his belt via a thin net of rope and re-sheathing his sword. He looks down at Eddie. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get Bill and the Georgies. They should be taken to the Gray Kingdom and while they won’t be treated kindly, they’ll have food and shelter. For now, though, you’ve got to go to the Hare and the Hatter. They’ve been waiting at teatime for ages.” 

“What  _ was _ that thing?” Eddie breathes. 

“The Rodichan. It’s a bird that the Gray King has a particular fondness for. It really wouldn’t be so malicious if it was taken care of properly. They clip the poor thing’s wings to keep it from flying too high or far.”

“You...stabbed its eye out.”

“Yes, I did. Sadly enough. I have to visit Gris soon anyways, I’ll probably return it to Rodichan then.”

“Return it?”

“Aye. It’s happened before—losing an eye is the easiest way to distract it. So I’ll return it and hopefully it won’t necessarily attack us next time.”

“Next time?” 

“Aye,” Ben repeats with a heavy sigh. “Bowers—the Gray King’s knight commander—is looking for any reason to take us all in. So long as we’re seated at the tea table, however, there’s no reason to believe we’ve done wrong, even if he so desperately wants to. Rodichan is one of his favorite methods of weeding us out. Keen eyesight; it can spot anything from the sky.”

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but quickly clamps it shut when he sees the figure sitting on a thick bough above the path he and Ben are on. 

The figure, a woman by the looks of it, turns to rest on her stomach. She spots Ben and Eddie then, and her face splits into a grin like a half moon across the bottom third of her face. Her tail flicks in the air. 

Eddie gasps sharply when she vanishes in thin air. He jolts at her sudden reappearance directly in front of them. 

Her grin still hasn’t left her face. A riot of red hair cascades down her back, while soft orange cat ears sit on the top of her head. Her entire body is covered in short orange fur with stripes of that impossibly bright red run through it. Sharp claws replace her nails. Huge, mischievous grey-green eyes peer down at Eddie while her cattish nose sniffs towards him. Her tail lazily moves back and forth from a hole cut in the seat of her pants. Eddie averts his eyes from her frilly shirt and slacks.

“Who’d you bring now, Ben?” her gentle voice coos. Eddie looks back up at her and she’s relaxed from Ben’s presence. 

“Eddie,” Ben answers kindly with a smile full of fondness. 

“ _ The _ Eddie?” she asks. Her excitement is clear in her voice as she looks down at Eddie again. 

“ _ Just _ Eddie,” Eddie interjects. His mood sours even more at the implication he’s meant to do great things. He crosses his arms petulantly. 

Ben all but ignores his agitation. He explains pleasantly to the cat, “We’re going to tea. Would you like to come, Beverly?” 

The cat, Bev, lights up. Her smile softens slightly. “Sure. Only to tea, though. I’ll not have another conversation about the Rebellion with Trashmouth.” She crosses her arms and swings around to walk with them. Ben sets the pace slow enough for Eddie to keep up. 

They begin to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! I have roughly about 4 chapters written so far; I'm trying to spread these out as much as I can while I get the other chapters written up. After I get these pre-written chapters up, I'll probably make it so I'm posting once per week. Thank you so much to @eddiefreakinspaghetti for being my first ever comment! This chapter is for you :)


	3. All Mad Here

After just a bit more walking, the three of them come to a clearing surrounded on all sides by forest. The ground leading to the center is so worn from use that grass doesn’t grow there. It leads to a short stone platform, covered in rugs, with three tables crammed together lengthwise and covered with linen tablecloths. Arranged haphazardly on the table is the most bizarre set of teaware that Eddie has ever seen. Chipped cups sit in front of every seat, on top of mismatched saucers. Steam drifts from the two pots at either end, but more ceramic teapots dot the table. In the center of each table is a silver dessert tray, worn from use, with a variety of foods on each--one layer has cakes, one has finger sandwiches, one has scones. Different jars of jam and butter are set randomly across the tables, as are covered cups of sugar cubes and cream. Silverware is scattered across the entire place; you’d get lucky to find a spoon to stir your tea with. Eddie is careful to avoid stepping on the shards of broken cups surrounding the table. 

He finally manages to peel his eyes away from the assortment on the table to the two people sitting at it. One of them sits with perfect posture. His skin and eyes are both dark brown, with his eyes focused on the tea in front of him. Dark circles ring underneath them. His face is round, with a flat nose and plump lips. Blakc, coiled hair is shorn close to his head. Sticking up from his head about a foot and a half are two hare ears, coated in thin mahogany fur with pinkish ears. He’s dressed in a tattered, muddy orange morning coat and pants. His gaze flicks up when Ben takes the seat across from him before looking at Bev and Eddie. His eyes widen to saucers and he gasps sharply. The man sitting at the end of the table, with his head slumped against his chest and eyes closed like he’s been sleeping finally looks up. Ice blue eyes pierce into Eddie. 

He sits up. His cracked pink lips split into a bright, slightly wild grin. His skin is pale, almost white, and purple, bruise-like rings sit under his eyes. He sets a casual elbow on his armchair; it reveals a calloused, overworked hands with thin scars crisscrossing it half hidden by a fingerless glove and a thimble tucked onto his thumb. Broad shoulders press into his chestnut colored coat, and underneath that is navy colored button-up. On his chest is a tie shaped like a fan with an eyesore of a pattern on it. A bandolier with spools of thread, a pincushion, and a small pocket for a variety of sewing paraphernalia sits on his left shoulder to his right hip. The thickest glasses Eddie has ever seen sits on his face, crooked from multiple breaks, and makes the man's eyes look unhinged and huge. Brown curls come to a stop just above his shoulders, squashed down by a navy blue hat. Intricate swirls, almost like vines with thin leaves, cover the hat in a shiny bronze color. Four mismatched patches are sewn into the hat to repair some unknown damage. Three long, tarnished hat pins--two silver, one gold--stick out of the left side of his hat. Wrapped around the base, similar to the red silk on Eddie’s hat, is a thick strip of pale orange velvet that ties in the back and leaves two long tails, completed with thin fringe, trailing down the man’s back. On the ride side of his hat, tucked into the velvet, sits a tall peacock feather behind a thick cream-colored card (with some bizarre looking brown spots, like singed edges) that reads, “ _ In this Style, 10/6”.  _

The man stands. Eddie can see the crimson checkered waistcoat that sits underneath his jacket, and the purple silk that lines the inside of the jacket. His pants, an army green, go from his waist to just above his ankles. Floral embroidery, worn with age, crawls up his left leg. Hand knit striped socks are covered by old leather boots that are half tied. Strips of fabric, ranging from a simple ribbon pinned just above his jacket pocket to thick scraps of cotton tucked into his back pocket, trail behind him as he walks to Eddie. 

“I’d know you anywhere,” he says with an excited, hushed voice. 

* * *

Richie’s grin is so wide that his cheeks ache. There, beside Bev who has yet to take a seat, is Eddie.  _ His _ Eddie. 

His gaze darkens slightly. No, not his Eddie.  _ Just _ Eddie. Richie has no claim over him, he never has, especially when they haven’t seen each other since they were wee children. Since the first time they fought Gray. 

He takes Eddie in, though, in all his Aboveground glory. Chestnut colored hair sits in a slightly disheveled state atop a thin head and under a velvet hat. Russet eyes--such a rich brown color that Richie feels like he could drown in it and be  _ okay _ \--peer at him and Mike with apprehension. 

Bev vanishes with little noise and reappears in the seat beside Ben. She shoots Richie a slightly disdainful look, but Richie ignores her. He’s too focused on Eddie. 

“You’re here!” Richie gushes. Eddie stares at him--he could have sworn that Richie’s eyes had been sky-colored, but now they are darker. Richie continues to speak. “I’m Richie, the Hatter. Sometimes folks like to call me Trashmouth. Come, come, have some tea.” 

Before Eddie can say anything, Richie’s grabbed his hand and is leading him to the chair directly to the left of Richie's. Eddie swallows. Hesitantly, he says, “We’ve met before.”

Richie beams at him. His hands clap together rapidly. “Yes, yes! I knew you would remember! We met the last time you were here, when we weakened the Gray King. Of course, we were all only kids then, Michael here hardly even a leveret!” He guffaws; buck teeth pop out of his smile slightly. “Would you like some tea?”

Eddie is barely able to nod before Richie is pouring him a cup and sliding it over. “I...remember now...my dreams…” He closes his eyes, remembering the vague familiarity that has haunted him since he fell down the rabbit hole. 

* * *

_ The Gray King. He’s tall, imposing, foreboding. He stands across from the seven of them on the chessboard battlefield. Thick furs bundle him up from the brisk wind. A heavy-looking golden hoop crown rests on his head; it encircles his temples with two arches above, one running from front to back and the other running from side to side. Sapphire-like jewels are embedded around the hoop with intricate gold work connecting them. Four different colored gemstones, large and vibrant, are set into each section of the arches, representing the four cardinal directions: lapis lazuli carved into a rat for the North, a rabbit-shaped emerald for the East, carnelian like a horse for the South, and topaz in a rooster-shape for the West. At the top, where the arches connect, is a thick fleur de lis embedded with pearls. A long sceptre rests in his hand, golden with a diamond shaped cage on top encasing a glowing orb.  _

_ Eddie wants to run. His heart is in his throat, and his throat is closing up. He wants to get away from here, away from Underry, back to the safety of London, to the safety of mother.  _

_ But is mother really that safe?  _

_ Eddie shakes the thought out of his head. He glances to his left. Richie is there, not quite as mad as he would become, wearing an untarnished hat that’s just slightly too big. His glasses slip down his nose, but he quickly shoves them back up. Richie glances over and meets his eyes. He grins brightly, the grin of a kid trying desperately to keep the others calm. He slides his hand into Eddie’s. Eddie squeezes it gratefully. This time is so different, so out of place when compared to falling down the rabbit hole. When he had fallen, when he had first met his friends, they were carefree, happy. The Gray King hadn’t nearly been this bad, this...soul-crushing. He had even invited Eddie to play croquet! Although he did demand that Eddie paint his wife’s roses grey instead of the white they had planted. That day had also ended with the Gray King accusing Richie and Eddie of stealing his tarts, which Eddie had somehow wormed their way out of. He woke up again in the tree he had dozed off in, with his governess calling his name.  _

_ This time, coming through the looking glass, has been so much different. The sky is darker. The wildlife is more scared and jittery. Even his old friends are different, somehow. More hardened. Almost as if they have resigned themselves to a fate worse than death. The Gray King laughs at the bundle of children that think that can beat them. Of course, he must laugh at them, must make them believe that he disagrees with them.  _

_ If they knew that the simple act of loving each other and having enough courage to face him would weaken him, he would be ruined.  _

_ Bill leads the charge against the King, but it’s Beverly who manages to send the spear into the cage of the sceptre. It’s a long fight, yet the second that his sceptre is threatened, the King unleashes a roar that momentarily deafens Eddie’s ears. The King flings his hand out, scattering the seven of them away from each other, before he vanishes.  _

_ The Green King gives Eddie a way home, and Eddie wakes up from his nightmare.  _

* * *

“I’ve dreamt of this place before,” Eddie repeats. He looks up to see Richie’s eyes, a powder blue, and Richie’s soft smile. Every part of Eddie wants to reach out and take Richie’s hand, to squeeze it like he had done in that second dream. 

Bev answers lazily, “Yes, you have always been so insistent that our land is a dream of yours. Quite rude if you ask me.”

“At least his dreams are realistic,” Richie shoots back. He hasn’t torn his eyes away from Eddie’ yet. “Not all of us can live in a false reality where everything is supposedly okay.” 

“I’m not here to talk politics, Trashmouth.” Bev sighs heavily. “Just for a cup of tea. Which you’re putting me off of now.” 

“It’s not politics if it concerns the rights of the Underrian people. Which is  _ far _ more important than you being  _ off your tea _ .” Richie’s eyes darken to an ocean color. He finally looks away from Eddie to meet Bev with a seething glare. 

“What happened to you, Trashmouth? You used to be the life of the party.” Bev’s bottom lip juts out in a pout. It reveals sharp teeth. 

“You know what happened.” Richie’s voice is like the arctic, cold and hollow, teetering on cruel, and his eyes are closer to navy now. He gets to his feet again, which leads him slowly towards Bev while his traitorous mouth slices words at her against his wishes. 

“You’re a  _ coward _ , Beverly, _ à sinteag culese nell, arraquine acine a loz juetly! Òrt yo zhul _ \--” 

“Beep beep, Trashmouth!” Ben exclaims furiously. He’s shoved himself out of his seat, in between Richie and Bev. Bev’s face is full of distaste, her tail swishing in upset. 

Richie swallows the lump in his throat. His entire body is frozen, as if he couldn’t believe he had just snapped at her. Slowly, he unclenches the fists that had formed at his sides. He croaks like he hasn’t had a single thing to drink for a week, “I’m fine.” He straightens up; his eyes focus on a broken cup. “I’m sorry for snapping, Beverly. You didn’t deserve that.” 

Bev sighs softly. Her eyes contain a heavy glint of sadness for Richie. “No, honey, it’s okay. I know how sensitive this all is for you. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

Richie simply nods before returning to his seat. He smooths down his jacket; a red flush creeps up his pale neck from embarrassment. 

“What was that?” asks Eddie abruptly, much to Richie’s surprise. His thick brows are furrowed down. “The language you were speaking?”

“It’s called Barrenstongue,” Mike begins to explain. Richie shoots him a grateful look. “Outside of the official Underry borders is the Barrens, a sovereign nation not ruled by Underry’s royal families. We are close to the Barrens now, but Richie grew up essentially half in them. He has the most recent connection to the Barrens than the rest of us, his father’s father hailing from the Barrens. As such, he’s fluent in both Barrenstongue and Underrish.” 

“Thank you, Mike,” Richie says softly, with a hesitant smile. Mike opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by a noise Eddie can’t hear. Mike and Bev’s ears twitch towards the path into the forest. Mike’s nose starts going; Richie’s fidgeting movements still as he watches where they’re looking. It only takes a few seconds for Richie’s hands to yank something from his jacket pocket. 

“Drink,” he hisses to Eddie, “it’s Bowers.” Despite desperately not wanting to, Eddie takes the vial and drinks the small amount of bitter and cooling liquid in it. His yelp is more of a squeak when Richie yanks his shrinking form up and shoves him into an empty teapot. He quickly shoves his arms out to steady himself as Richie sets the teapot in his lap. Beverly gasps and vanishes. Mike casts a worried look at Richie--the second he heard Bowers, his eyes rapidly approached a near-black color--but Richie keeps his glare focused on the path. 

A small dog, probably about seven pounds, with long tan fur and short legs sniffs up to the clearing, then barks. It dashes underneath the table. Bowers arrives soon after atop a white horse with grey armor on. Following him is a squad of seven Gray Knights clad in simple metal armor with a grey disk on their chests, with five pressed dots--certain dots filled with gold depending on the knight. Bowers is tall, with blond hair containing oddly placed streaks of shocking pure white that hangs in a greasy curtain around his face. His features are all just slightly off--beady blue eyes too far apart, lips too thin, nose too low--and his skin looks almost sickly with a slight yellow tint. He smirks and lets out a soft, demeaning chuckle. 

“I should have known my favorite nutcases would be involved,” he practically purrs. 

“Would you like some tea?” Mike asks, far more politely than Bowers deserves, with a bit of a deranged smile. He’s already pouring Bowers a cup without waiting for an answer. Bowers takes the cup despite giving Mike a look full of loathing. 

Bowers sips the tea. “I’ve heard Kaspbrak has arrived once again in Underry.” 

“Now what could a Brak of Kasp be?” Mike wonders aloud. 

“It appears, according to this faithful dog, that the boy has come this way,” Bowers seethes. “And his Majesty’s Rodichan has lost an eye.” 

Ben grimaces with a sip of his tea. “Quite a shame how some people treat the creatures of Underry, regardless of their royal affiliation. Almost as much of a shame as how the Gray King treats his subjects.” He gives Bowers a wicked grin with bulging eyes. 

Bowers growls, “Yes,  _ quite _ a shame. How long have you all been here?” 

“Since Time himself doomed us to stay here, we’ve told you that,” Richie answers lazily with a maniacal stare. 

“If you’re hiding him, you’ll lose your heads.” 

Richie guffaws. “Already lost them!” 

Bowers slams his teacup into the ground. He shouts, “You’re all mad!” 

“Thank you very much!” Mike chirps with a huge grin. 

Bev’s grin appears to the right of Bowers’ head. Utilizing her evaporation abilities, she begins to taunt Bowers. 

The dog, aptly named Pomo, shoves his nose against the teapot in Richie’s lap and growls. It startles Richie for a second. With Bowers distracted, however, he risks glancing down at the dog and whispers, “ _ Ayish co Strak Grish _ .”  _ Away with the Gray King _ . The motto of the Rebellion. Pomo’s eyes soften with a gentle whine, but he sulks back under the table. He barks and takes off the opposite way. 

“Damn you all!” Bowers snaps. He jumps back on his horse to take off after Pomo. The knights shuffle after him. 

Richie lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He sets the pot back onto the table, opens the lid, and asks gently, “Do your clothes still fit?” 

“Only my hat!” Eddie’s tiny voice shouts back up. He’s red with irritation. Richie nods. He pulls out a length of fabric from the teapot. In the span of a minute, he has a pullover white long sleeved shirt made from the silk of Eddie’s cravat and a pair of trousers made from his old pair. He drops them into the pot before setting a small pair of quickly woven shoes in behind them. Eddie knocks when he’s finished dressing; Richie carefully lifts him out and onto the table. 

Richie smiles. “I like it.” 

Eddie gives him a look. “Take the cravat pin in there. It was my father’s.” Richie nods. He sticks the pin into the card of his hat. 

“You should go to Versidi,” Mike suggests. “The Green King will know what to do with him and fit him with what he needs.” 

“I agree,” Richie answers. He stands, removes his hat, and sets it on the table in front of Eddie. “Your ride, my good sir.” 

“My ride?” Eddie asks with disbelief. His brows have shot into his hairline with apprehension. His arms are crossed to complete the aggravated look. 

Richie’s eyes are light again. “Anyone who’s anyone knows that the absolute best way to travel is by hat. Quite a wonderful ride.” 

“How safe is it.” 

“When it’s my hat, it’s the safest way to go.” Richie’s smile is soft and fond. Eddie hesitates; his mother’s voice ricochets around his head. He closes his eyes, wishes it away. 

He steps onto the brim of the hat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely one of my favorite chapters so far! I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)  
> quick note: i've actually been creating translations for anything Richie says in Barrenstongue, so what he snaps at Bev is, "one blind, ignorant coward who doesn't want to see reality! You can fuck--" and then Ben cuts him off, of course. Pronunciations are based off of Scottish Gaelic and French. See you all next update!


	4. Blue and Gray

Eddie doesn’t quite realize his deathgrip on the velvet wrapped around Richie’s hat has loosened until he’s hanging halfway off of the brim. Quickly, he switches his grip to the brim, clutching so hard his knuckles turn white. His eyes close; every part of him is focusing on the murmurs coming from Richie. A strange accent covers the words, a mixture of English and something else--perhaps Barrenstongue? Richie’s voice lulls into him. It’s husky, full of some unplaceable emotion that fills Eddie with sadness to hear. Carefully, Eddie swings over the brim. 

“What was that?” he asks. He hangs from the hat a bit precariously. 

Richie glances at him, careful not to turn his head. His accent is still heavy when he answers, “An old poem, from when the Frabjous Day first appeared in the Luscina. The Barrens people wrote it first, but the original is lost to time.” Eddie can see Richie’s dark stare flicker back to the path ahead of them. Richie’s hand guides Eddie to his shoulder, where Eddie carefully sits. “Underryian people bastardized it with their unfamiliar tongue.” 

“How does it go?” 

Richie nearly stops at this. He’s immediately taken aback by the casual tone of the question; nobody he’s known has ever wanted to know simple Barrenstongue words, unless it’s Mike, who hungers for history in a way Richie has never seen before. Yet, Richie does not stop. His pace slows, more conscious of Eddie’s unreliable footing, as he begins to speak. 

“ _ ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves _

_ Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  _

_ All mimsy were the borogoves,  _

_ And the mome raths outgrabe. _

_ Beware the Pennywise, my son!  _

_ The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! _

_ Beware Rodichan, and shun _

_ The frumious Leolfzhe! _

_ He took his spear of Chüd in hand:  _

_ Long time the manxome foe he sought-- _

_ So rested he by the Tumtum tree,  _

_ And stood awhile in thought.  _

_ And as in uffish thought he stood,  _

_ The Pennywise, with eyes of flame,  _

_ Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, _

_ And burbled as it came!  _

_ One, two! One, two! And through and through _

_ The spear of Chüd went snicker-snack!  _

_ He left it dead, and with its head  _

_ He went galumphing back.  _

_ “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?  _

_ Come to my arms, my beamish boy!  _

_ O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”  _

_ He chortled in his joy.  _

_ ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves _

_ Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  _

_ All mimsy were the borogoves,  _

_ And the mome raths outgrabe. _ ”

“It’s about you, Eds,” Richie comments. His voice is tender, released from what had compelled him to think of the poem due to Eddie’s want to hear it. Eddie huffs and crosses his arms. He leans forward as much as he can carefully to look at Richie. 

“I don’t slay, so put it out of your mind. And my name is Eddie, not ‘Eds’.” His voice is sharp, angry. 

Richie stops then. His gaze unfocuses, lands on the ground in front of him, before it sweeps slowly around the part of the woods they’ve come to stop in. The setting sun turns the atmosphere around them a golden orange color. It catches in Richie’s hair, revealing strands of auburn here and there that captivates Eddie with their beauty. Richie’s distant stare, so distant that Eddie worries he’s caught in the throes of some memory, some  _ horrible _ memory that Eddie doesn’t want him to face. 

Richie’s voice is hoarse, with that disembodied accent. “ _ Mind _ .” 

“Richie?” Eddie is full of concern. His tiny hand reaches out to rest on Richie’s cheek. Riche turns his head to face him; his eyes are navy with a light ring around the pupil. 

“I’m fine,” Richie croaks. He swallows. His eyes flick around the setting. “It happened here. The start of the Gray King’s reign. The death of the Tozier clan as we knew it.” 

Eddie’s face softens. “What happened that day?” He gently plays with a coil of Richie’s hair. Richie closes his eyes and leans into the small touch. His thoughts travel back to that day; the ruins that lay here now used to be a collection of buildings for those in the Tozier clan, a gaggle of shops and homes to create their own small village near the Barrens border. Now, it continues to crumble around them. The Pennywise, that dreadful monster, had crushed the buildings and vaporized the inhabitants with its Deadlights. 

“It was a celebration of the Green King’s bond with the Toziers. It was after we had faced the Gray King as a group, before he’d harnessed the power of the Pennywise and accepted the Bowers family into court. Rumor says that Anyaleith Kersh, a woman in the Gray Court, was a witch who had cursed that day for us. I was the hatter for the Green King then, Maturin. He was a kind ruler. Brought no harm to others. Unlike Gray.”

He shivers in an invisible chill. “Gray brought the Pennywise out. It destroyed Tozier Hill, it killed all of the Toziers it could find. I was miraculously spared.” He sets Eddie on a tree stump, looking away from him. “Because I ran. I was so worried about getting Maturin  _ out _ of there, I hadn’t even stopped to think about my own family...my mother and my father…” His entire face slackens with a loss of focus. His eyes glaze over. 

Suddenly, his jaw sets. He does not look at Eddie. “You don’t slay. Quite unfortunate.” He stands and begins to walk away. 

“Richie! You can’t leave me here!” Eddie shouts from the stump. His voice, anger and pity filling it, stops Richie. Richie hates that he could always do that—Eddie could always stop him, no matter what was happening. 

Richie faces him. “If you don’t slay, what do you suppose I do with you? Is there anything to be done? It would be a waste to bring you to Maturin if you’d not slay, and if I brought you to Stanley he’d certainly have some choice words for you. You don’t slay but even if you did you’d not be up there alone, we’d be with you, like we were the first time, like we always will be, and—“

“Beep beep,” Eddie cuts off his rant in a commanding but gentle tone. Richie snaps his mouth shut and looks at him. His eyes are so full of pain and regret and a lifetime of trauma that he shouldn’t have had to face that it enrages Eddie. It angers him to see such a kind man reduced to being trapped in his own head like this. Eddie gestures for him to come over. Richie sets a shaking hand out for Eddie to climb onto. 

“Quite sorry that I’ve got no upelkuchen,” Richie says quietly. “Otherwise I’d get you back to your normal size. Come, we must be going to Versidi.” He sets Eddie into his breast pocket. Richie stops as he hears something; Eddie manages to hear it too this time. “We’ve got to go. Gray Knights.” Richie takes off before Eddie can protest. 

Eddie clutches tightly to the bouncing pocket opening. Richie makes a rapid succession of turns before hiding himself behind the trunk of a dead, thick tree. He plucks Eddie out of his pocket. 

“Listen to me, I’m sure a creature will be along to help you, you’re going to the Green King in Versidi. Be careful, and don’t get caught. Hold on.” He tucks Eddie into the velvet strip. Eddie can’t get a word out before Richie flings the hat an impossible distance, across a small brook to the base of a nondescript tree. Gray Knights fill into the woods behind Richie. He steps into their line of sight, screaming, “ _ Ayish co Strak Grish! _ ” The Knights waste no time in shackling him and leading him away. 

Eddie curls into the velvet. He covers his face and tries not to cry, but doesn’t do too good of a job. Tears still come out, a small sob hiccups through him, as he thinks of the nightmare Richie will soon face at the hands of the Gray King.

* * *

Sudden, sharp movement awakens Eddie. He jolts, then quickly shoots out of the velvet strip. “Hey!” he snaps. His fists clasp tightly around the fabric securing him in. 

“Oh, Eddie!” Bev says brightly with her cattish grin. “What are you doing here, darling? And with Trashmouth’s hat, too. Poor thing must be worried sick about it all.”

Eddie sighs. “Gray Knights captured Richie. He told me to find someone to take me to Versidi.”

“Then to Versidi we go.”

“No,” Eddie says sharply. “I’ll not have another person tell me what to do. You and I are going to find Richie and get him away from the Gray King.” 

Bev scoffs. “You mustn’t stray from the path the Luscina has laid out.”

“I don’t  _ care _ what the Luscina has laid out. It’s  _ my _ dream.  _ I _ make the path. And we are going to the castle of the Gray King.”

“Okay, okay,” she replies with a softer smile. “I’ll take you to Gris. But I’ll not go any further beyond the walls. Not really the crowd I like to involve myself with.”

“As long as you take me there.”

“Of course, Eddie. Just don’t tell Richie I was wearing his hat.” Her movements are deft to set the hat on her head. She begins to walk. 

Eddie slowly relaxes against the strip. He watches the Underry landscape pass them by. The sun is just rising; it dowses them in a soft pink light. If Eddie had been aboveground with this sight, he’d not have noticed it. He would have lost the sight of the sun behind gloomy clouds and gloomier thoughts. He wouldn’t have heard the morning birds calling for each other; wouldn’t have seen the stirrings of baby animals reaching for their mothers. 

Here, in the hat of a man he’s beginning to remember more and more of, he catches all of that and more. He basks in the light of the sun, feels it warm him in the way only a sun and a lover can. 

His thoughts drift off to the idea of Richie being able to warm him like this. 

The arrival to Gris is abrupt. Bev explains what she’s going to do so quickly Eddie almost misses it: she’s going to teleport inside of the gates, into the courtyard, and set the hat with Eddie down. And then, she’ll be gone. 

“Where will you go?” Eddie asks. 

“Anywhere but here,” she replies with a smile. She is quick as lightning. Before Eddie realizes, he’s in the courtyard. He climbs out of the hat, onto the manicured green grass. Looking up, he sees hedges trimmed in the likeness of an older man, paired with grey foliage to complete the look of a beard and mustache. His ears don’t need to strain too hard to hear what’s happening—it seems that the King is having an outing of croquet with his court. Eddie peeks his head out from a hedge. The King holds a flamingo like a croquet stick, rears it back, and hits a tied up hedgehog right where Eddie stands. Eddie yanks himself back to avoid being hit. Then, he dashes over and unties the poor thing. It scuttles away. 

“Where’s my ball?” The King demands. He peers around at his subjects. “Page! Go get my ball!”

“Yuh-yuh-yes, Ma-Ma-Majesty!” Bill’s voice drifts towards Eddie. The rabbit hops through the bushes, but stops abruptly when he spots Eddie. “Wuh-wuh-wuh-Well, if it i-i-isn’t the  _ ruh-wrong _ Eddie.” His short arms cross as his eyes narrow. 

“Please, Bill, I’m just trying to find Richie. He’s been captured. Is there a way to make me ta again?” Eddie can’t find it in himself to hate the desperation in his voice. For Richie, he feels like he would do anything. To find him, to keep him safe. 

He tries not to let that worry him. 

Bill takes this in and nods. His movements are anxious, like always, but he seems set—as if Eddie really does control the script for this world. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, which reveals a chocolate cake covered in white icing. “E-eat thuh-thuh-this.” 

Eddie scoops the cake up easily. He takes four solid bites; after the second bite, Bill gasps sharply and begins stuttering. “N-n-not a-a-a- _ all _ o-of it!” Eddie drops the cake quickly. Within seconds, he’s shooting up through the air. His clothes rip off of him, but somehow his hat stays on. He gulps tightly. Once he reaches a solid eight feet tall, he stops.

The Gray King peers up at Eddie’s huge form. Eddie keeps his face cool and secure at the sight of the man; he is not much different from what he had been the last time Eddie was here, but certainly a bit shorter--his age is more readily revealed in the hump of his spine than the wrinkles (or lack thereof) on his face. Salt and pepper hair is set in particular waves to accent his square jaw correctly. Pale lips purse together. He still wears the same crown, but his sceptre is in the hands of a loyal servant, a bear, behind him. Two thin lines of blood red run from above his eyebrows to meet at the tips of his lips, like a demented smile of sorts. Eddie had forgotten those distinguishing markings existed on the man, placed there by his own grim hand one summer’s day before Eddie arrived for the first time in Underry. The marks are the key to the King’s court officials; disfigurement, rejection from society,  _ those _ lead you to the Gray King. 

Of course, neither the King nor the court would ever admit that the true reason behind their ostracization is more likely to be their plain old  _ meanness _ . 

The King’s cold, calculating silver eyes seem more conniving than ever. He analyzes Eddie with a laziness of sorts, before he becomes quite rapt at the prospect of having Eddie in his court. A small smirk quirks up his lips. “And Page, who exactly would this be?” he drawls. His voice is a smooth baritone that nearly sends Eddie running for the hills.

But he needs to find Richie. He  _ will _ find Richie, no matter what.

“Thuh-thuh-his i-is, oh…”

“Oh?” the King repeats. Bill’s hands are twisting so hard they look ready to fall off. 

Eddie interjected quickly, “From Ofolk.” 

“And where are your clothes,  _ Oh _ ?” The King’s thin brows shoot upwards, like he’s prepared to catch the man in a lie. Eddie, while not one to usually think on his feet, is much more convincing than he thinks he can be. 

“I outgrew them. They taunt me there, poking fun at my size, at how I'll never be normal to them. So I left. I was hoping I could join your court...” Eddie’s eyes slip away from the court; it only serves to help his act. =

The King nods. “Well, anyone rejected so solidly from their supposed family is welcome to me. Welcome to Neibolt Castle, Oh. Someone, find some clothes for this man. Use the draperies, if you must, but clothe this enormous man.” Once he finishes his commands, servants usher off to do exactly as he asks. The King gives one last nod towards ‘Oh’ before he leaves with his court. Bill looks up at Eddie. His small eyes give away all of his thoughts, his worries about this seemingly absurd plan that Eddie’s come up with on the fly. Eddie tries to smile, to dim those anxieties, but it doesn’t quite reach his eye, not when there’s so much he must be careful of now. He pushes Richie’s hat behind the furthest most bushes; he will come back to retrieve it when he finds Richie. 

_ If  _ he finds Richie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a shorter chapter today! of course, I do not own the poem in this chapter, that's Jabberwock by Lewis Carroll, I simply changed a few words to make it fit the story.


	5. Neibolt

For the first time since he’s arrived in Underry, Eddie is wearing proper clothes consisting of tailored trousers, a shirt, and a morning coat he’s left unbuttoned. His waistcoat is a silvery pattern with a hint of blue and a matching tie. One of the servants, a monkey that comes up to his knee, indicates that the waistcoat really  _ is _ made from the curtains. Eddie takes one last glance around the expansive room the King has allocated for him before he steps into the hall. He locks the door behind him. His heart is in his throat, his throat is closing up, and he feels ready to pass out. 

The Gray King wants to see him. Wants him to sit in the throne room with him. The King  _ wants _ him. Eddie wants to vomit. 

Neibolt Castle stresses Eddie out to the moon and back; its halls stretch and contract; the windows start frosted and end clear; the rooms that dot along the corridors are made of too many different materials and left half open or with their keys sticking out. The grey stone walls seep the warmth away from the people, the random staircases to nowhere threaten to disorient Eddie. His footfalls are muffled against the faded rugs that run along the floor, and then as quiet as he can make them on the white marble floors. He tears his anxious eyes from the floor to the room in front of him, the throne room. 

The Gray King sits atop a plush cushioned throne, towering when compared to his frail frame, high-backed and ornate with silver accents and quartz jewels embedded around the oak frame. A high dome above the throne itself has two thick glass pieces curved to its form, to let in a golden light that enshrouds the King. Behind him is a stained glass window that stretches up to the ceiling; it details the King’s coronation, a young and limber body and steady brown hair, but still with those horrible marks on his face. 

_ He put those there himself, you know, after his first kill. He used the child’s blood to make them, and the Other cursed him for it, for the death of an innocent child. The Other made his marks permanent, and now he smiles in the faces of those he kills. He is truly awful, an evil incarnate.  _

Eddie closes his eyes for a moment. A man’s voice had told him those words so long ago, a man on the Green Court with Maturin, during Eddie’s first visit. His name...it was Aloysius Nell, a man with an accent that was half Barrenstongue and half Underrish, who always made sure to keep the seven of them out of trouble. Eddie’s focus snaps back to the cursed ruler in front of him when the King clears his throat. 

The King is swathed in a black cloak with a lining of thick grey fur. He looks up from the papers he’d been looking over. His mouth spreads into a wide, hungry grin. He says in that gravelly voice, “Come, Oh, I’ve a seat for you.” His gnarled hand gestures to the cushioned stool beside him. Eddie takes a seat on it. His knees crunch up towards his chest, considering that a two foot tall stool isn’t really compatible with an eight foot tall man. 

The King looks at him with that terrible smile. “Court members are coming in today and we’re giving trial to our prisoners. As I like to say, sentence first, verdict later.” 

“But...what if you sentence a man to death and he turns out to be innocent?” Eddie asks. His brows are furrowed. Concern fills him--Richie might already be dead or imprisoned forever, if the King sentences every day. He runs his clammy palms over his thighs. 

“An unfortunate accident,” the King replies with a lazy wave of his hand. “But they’re always guilty, of course. Nobody is innocent if they’ve decided to enter my path.” Eddie is about to answer, but he closes his mouth as the iron and wooden door to the room creaks open. The sound of clanking shackles fills Eddie with fear. 

Richie is surrounded on all sides by Gray Knights, with Bowers walking in front of him and wearing an arrogant smirk. Richie glances up; his dark eyes flick quickly between Eddie and the Gray King before a small smile of his own crosses his lips. It’s there and gone in a flash. He looks worse, despite being here for less than a day. One eye is bruised and swollen, his lip is split with dried blood surrounding it, and various bruises dot across his visible skin. Eddie’s stomach drops at the sight of him, hatless and beaten. Quickly, to avoid his expression slipping in front of the King, he straightens his posture to that of a school child being taught for the first time. 

“Ah, Richie Tozier, the Mad Hatter,” the King drawls. He leans forward. “We’ve heard Eddie Kaspbrak is back in Underry. Where is he.” 

“Mm, your Majesty, I’ve been considering things that start with the letter  _ A _ ,” Richie replies. His words bubble out of him like he doesn’t mean to say them, but can’t stop them. “Arrogance. Aberration. Abomination. Abhorrence.” 

“We’re looking for an  _ E _ word now,” the King snaps. “Where is Edward.” 

Richie continues to deflect. “You know, I used to be the hatter to the Green King.” Gray’s lip curls up in a snarl at the mention of the other Underrish royal. “He was so dull. All green—no accent of any other color, really! Now, with  _ you _ , I’d be able to bounce around so many different designs, grey and silver with accents of red, red with accents of grey—grey is  _ such _ a versatile color! Honestly, Majesty, to be able to hat your head would be of the highest honor.” The King has narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. He analyzes Richie for several quiet moments, all while Richie stares back at him. 

“You really think you would be able to make magnificent works?” The King’s voice is cold and sharp, but double-edged. He knows his advantages: keeping Richie means he could potentially learn the Rebellion’s secrets (quite fast, if Bowers were to torture him in the way only Bowers is able to) as well as receiving a plethora of new accessories to spice up court. If he ends up  _ not _ liking Richie’s designs, he’ll simply torture Richie to the farthest extent and then be rid of him like every other prisoner. 

“Oh, yes.” Richie beams. “I’m extremely good at my profession. I’ll begin creating designs for you immediately, Majesty. If I could just…” He holds up his cuffed hands, rubbed raw from the tightness. Bowers raises a thin brow at the King. The King looks almost annoyed at Bowers’ cluelessness. 

“He can’t work if his hands are bound!” he snaps. “Unbind him, now.”

“But, Majesty—“

“ _ Now _ , Bowers.” 

Bowers sighs. He holds his tongue, but quickly snaps Richie’s shackles by slamming his sword through them. Richie stumbles slightly from the force. He’s fast at getting back up, though, and his movements take him quickly to the throne. Bowers keeps his hand on his sword; one wrong move and Richie would be skewered through it. Richie murmurs to himself as he works. He makes mental measurements, provides examples of the hats he can make for the King, decides on threads and fabrics to use. 

The King nods. “Take this man to the fourth floor room at the end of the west wing. Provide him any materials he requests.  _ Now _ .” Bowers’ nose scrunches up in dislike. He yanks Richie down from the dais towards the knights. Keeping a firm grip on his upper arm, Bowers leads Richie out of the throne room. 

“So, what was your verdict?” Eddie asks. He tries to smother his anxieties down with small talk. Those same anxieties skyrocket when he sees Gray’s smirk. 

“He’s guilty of many things. And I’ll find out each and every one of them.” 

Eddie’s heart sinks. 

* * *

Somehow, amongst the maze of the castle, Eddie manages to sidle his way towards the room Richie’s been set in. His fist, huge in this new body, knocks heavily against the door. He winces against the loud sound. Richie’s voice is muffled from the door, but Eddie takes his tone as one of acquiesce. He presses the door open. The iron knob is cold in his hand. Richie glances up; he’s dressed in the trousers and shirt he wore when Eddie first met him, but without a coat or waistcoat. Instead, tied around his waist is a black and white checkered apron. His bandolier is set on the table, so he can use the spools more easily. The pockets on the apron are stuffed with paraphernalia--pins, fabric scissors, chalk. He hasn’t yet looked up from the intricate bowler hat he’s sewing together. It’s only been a few hours since he’s been put here, but Eddie can see that about four hats have been already made and essentially completed. Eddie sets Richie’s tophat down on a table in the room. He carefully lifts one of the newly completed hats up to observe it. 

“This one is nice,” he remarks. In his hands is a grey golf cap with intricate black stitching. Richie glances over at him and smiles gently. 

“Yes, yes. It’s very nice to be able to work in my craft again. My hands have missed sewing for a reason.” His voice is gentle, the voice of a man whose soul is finally beginning to soothe. 

“It’s a shame you have to make them for  _ him _ , though.” Eddie sighs, setting the hat down again. Richie’s movements freeze. His eyes continue to stare down at the hat he’s making. His jaw is beginning to work. 

“I’m...disrespecting my family’s name, working for  _ him _ ,” Richie growls. His voice is sharp now, haunted by years of memories. A shout of unbridled anger rips through him. Viciously, with raging Barrenstongue curses dribbling him his mouth, his arms swipe away the work and materials in front of him. He snatches up a pair of scissors and launches it into a mannequin seven feet away. Immediately, he begins running towards it with his hands outstretched. Eddie jumps in front of him, cupping his cheeks. 

“Beep beep,” Eddie says gently. Richie stops under his touch. He nearly melts into Eddie’s hands. A heavy breath shudders through him. Eddie’s thumb traces along Richie’s cheekbone. 

Richie breathes, “Do you have any idea why a raven is like a writing desk? Oh, Eddie, I’m so terribly frightened, it’s much too loud in here, in these hard walls, in this cold palace. Am I mad? Have I gone mad?” 

“I’m afraid so, Richie.” Eddie runs a hand through Richie’s hair, working through the knots. Richie sinks into his touch once more. “But can I tell you a secret?” Richie’s eyes open to look at him, revealing navy eyes slowly becoming more of a gunmetal color. “All the best people are mad.” 

“You once told me that your father believed in as many as six impossible things before breakfast. A truly mad practice if you ask me.” 

“Then I suppose we’ll have to try it sometime,” Eddie replies, “together.” 

Richie jumps at Bowers snapping at him through the door, demands of the King’s hats being ready. He shoots a glare at him, but quickly looks back at Eddie. “The Spear of Chüd is hidden somewhere on Neibolt grounds. If you find Bill, he’ll take you to it. Him and Ben should be here by now. Ben usually comes to get me. Get the spear and take it to the Green King.” 

“We’ll go to the Green King together,” Eddie answers firmly. 

Richie smiles fondly. His pale eyes meet Eddie’s with a soft kind of tenacity. “Why is it that you’re always too small, or too tall?” 

“One day, we’ll be the same size.” Eddie mirrors his smile. He slides his hand into Richie’s and gives it a gentle squeeze. Richie chuckles. 

“I think I distinctly recall you being shorter than me, Eds.” 

“Oh, hush. And that’s not my name. But here, I brought this for you.” He lifts up Richie’s hat from the table he had set it on when he walked in. He sets it upon Richie’s head. “Much better. Much more yourself.” 

Richie visibly relaxes. He smiles, and it reaches his light eyes. “Thank you. It makes me feel much better. Now, you should go. I’ve hats to make and you’ve a spear to find.” 

“Once I have the spear, I’ll be back for you.” Eddie waves and dips carefully from the room. Richie chuckles to himself, returning to his work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! i estimate that this will probably clock in at a total of eight or nine chapters. i'll probably finish it in a few days and i'll post that last bunch of chapters all together to finish it. thank you so much for staying with the story so far and i hope you enjoy the chapter!


	6. Voice of Dread

“Bill?” Eddie calls when he spots the rabbit standing at the end of a hallway and chatting with Ben against the window. The both of them look over; Ben waves Eddie down while Bill sighs softly. He nods in greeting to Eddie. “Bill, I need your help. Richie says you know where the Spear of Chud is?” 

Bill immediately gasps slightly. His little nose is bouncing with anxiety and caution. He shushes Eddie. “Nuh-not so luh-luh-luh-loud!” he breathes. “Cuh-come wuh-wuh-with muh-me.” Ben reaches his arm out to stop Bill before the two of them can leave. 

“Wait,” Ben whispers. “The Spear is with the Rodichan, right?” 

“Ruh-ruh-right.” 

“Then take the eye. Might make it easier to get by him.” Ben removes the eye from his belt. He presses it into Eddie’s hand; Eddie immediately gags, but covers it as best as he can. He pinches the netting Ben had it in between his fingers, doing the best he can not to touch the eye itself. 

“I could have used some warning,” Eddie grumbles. “Don’t do that again.” 

Ben chuckles. “Sorry, Eddie. I forgot that you didn’t like gross stuff. Now hurry, before someone gets suspicious of us all.” Bill nods astutely. He begins a quick hopping pace that Eddie doesn’t struggle to follow with his long legs. 

As they turn into one of the corridors, they’re cornered by three men: Bowers and his cronies, Victor Chris and Reginald “Belch” Huggins. Belch is huge, six and a half feet and nearing two hundred pounds; he would easily be able to take Eddie down if Eddie wasn’t dealing with the consequences of upelkuchen. Belch is also marked by the horrendous scar that takes up the left half of his face. It mars any distinct hint of beauty, and because of it, his left eye is missing. Victor, on the other hand, is shorter, clocking in at about six foot, and thin. A thick scar is wrapped around his neck--the idea of what happened to make it encircle his entire neck is enough to make Eddie sick. Vic and Belch stand behind Bowers like childhood bullies on a playground. Bowers leans forward into Eddie’s bubble. Eddie hurriedly tucks the Rodichan eye behind his back. 

“I saw you hanging out with that hatter today,” Bowers drawls with a smirk. From his belt he pulls a thin blade that seems to be able to retract into the handle. Its silver glint from the lighting makes Eddie gulp. “If you’re doing  _ anything _ to hurt the King, Oh…” 

“H-he’s nuh-nuh- _ not _ ,” Bill snaps. He backs up slightly when Bowers turns the blade on him. 

“I wasn’t talking to  _ you _ , you stuttering freak.” Belch laughs at Bowers’ cruelty. Vic just smirks. His hand creeps towards his own blade. 

“What does it matter if I was talking to the hatter?” Eddie quips. He sets his jaw against Bowers’ knife poking every so slightly against his throat. 

Bowers growls, “I  _ will _ be watching you.” Eddie just nods. He and Bill shove past the gang and down the hallway. Bill breathes heavily from the anxiety of being cornered, while Eddie just tries not to think too hard about it. Bill guides him out to the stables at the Southern end of the castle. 

There, at the end of the line of horse stables, is a wood and iron shed of sorts. The iron frame is heavy with carved incatricies, ready to stand the test of time, but the wood is slowly rotting and warping from being improperly sealed. Nothing keeps the door shut; it seems less like the Rodichan is forced to stay there, but more so that it is  _ afraid  _ to leave. The sky is darkening quickly. Now is the perfect time to get the Spear, Eddie realizes with scary clarity. If he wants to remain undetected, he should get the Spear while the court and the King aren’t looking, even if it means facing that terrifying bird before he thinks he can. Bill leads him up to the double doors. Eddie peers in between the crack separating the doors. The Rodichan is there, grooming itself with its precarious beak. A grimace crosses Eddie’s face. 

_ It’s now or never _ , he thinks. He slides through a slightly opened door and leaves Bill alone in the courtyard. 

* * *

Bowers runs his thumb gently over the handle of the retracting dagger he had stolen from his father so long ago. Belch and Vic chat quietly behind him, probably about court or something, Bowers doesn’t care enough to listen. He just simply keeps walking towards the throne room. When he gets there, he flings the doors open. The King’s head snaps up, his eyes narrow into a glare. Bowers swallows in regret over the theatricality. Other court members stare down at the hall, questioning over who could possibly disturb the King like this. Vic and Belch shrink backwards-- _they_ _always have been cowards_ , Bowers thinks. The King gestures for Bowers to step forward to him. 

Bowers kneels down to the King. “Majesty, I come to you with news. I heard your favorite court member, Oh, speaking with that hatter.” 

“Hm? And what did they discuss, Bowers?” 

“They were discussing a way to help the prisoner escape from the castle.” 

The Gray King raises an eyebrow. Then, he slowly begins to laugh, softly at first and then harder and louder. His face turns red with the effort. After a moment filled with awkward, scattered laughter from the court, he wipes a small, mirthful tear from his eye. He looks at Bowers once more. “Well, then, Bowers, Oh will just have to float with Trashmouth.” 

Bowers smiles and nods. He stands once more. Belch and Vic stand behind him, terror in their eyes at not only the prospect of a public execution but also at the King’s outburst. Bowers grabs their arms and drags them to another room to strategize. 

* * *

The Rodichan’s head snaps up immediately. It inhales sharply, both to smell Eddie and to prepare a shriek if necessary. Its powerful beak opens up. Eddie quickly holds his hands carefully in the air, showing off the eye. The Rodichan’s beak closes once more. Its singular eye swivels to peer at what Eddie holds. 

“I have something you want,” Eddie says softly, “and you have something I want.” He slides along the stinking wooden wall to the burlap covered mass in the back. He flings the burlap back; an ornate silver box sits under it. It’s long and slender, with a variety of complex carvings covering it. A heavy padlock keeps the two sides of it closed. The Rodichan clicks its beak angrily. Its body sinks low to get a better grip for attack. Eddie quickly opens the net and rolls the eye towards it. His nose scrunches up when he sees the bird greedily scoop the eye up with one wing and shove it in.  _ It’s just a fucking eye _ , he thinks to himself, the thought becoming even more pronounced when the long tongue lolls over the eye to heal it. 

The Rodichan, understanding the agreement they’ve just made, the bird steps slightly closer. Around its neck is a thick chain with a puny key attached to it. Eddie smiles softly to himself. His hand is careful, but he pulls the key from the Rodichan’s chain. He unlocks the box. 

Inside is a long spear in the fashion of a spetum: the hilt is about six feet long, a cherry wood color that’s held up against the long test of time, and the head of it is a foot long piece of sharpened metal with a crescent shape connecting it to the hilt. Embedded on either side of the straight head is a white, oval gem, with small blue gems embedded along the crescent. Thin details are carved into the metal. Eddie looks at the Rodichan. 

“I’ll get you out of here, too,” he promises gently. The Rodichan simply bows its head at him. Eddie worms past the bird and out into the courtyard. 

* * *

Ben is trying to pick the lock off of Richie’s shackles when Eddie bursts in; it had only taken one hatting session for the King to drive Richie up a wall and demand for help from Ben. 

Eddie holds the spear in front of him, not quite sure how to use it. “Here. I’ll get it off of him.” Richie quickly holds up his hands to stop him. 

“No, it mustn’t be used for anything except--” 

He’s cut off by Bowers slamming the door open. Belch and Vic stand behind him with sick smiles. Bowers glares at them. “Arrest that man for conspiring with a prisoner!” he shouts. Belch and Vic spring into action, but Ben is able to fend them off with his rapier. Eddie flings himself to the opposite side of the room while Richie jumps up to face Bowers. Bowers throws a punch which Richie easily dodges. Richie’s deft hands clamp onto Bowers’ shoulders after Bowers manages to get his knife into Eddie’s cheek. Eddie cries out in pain. Richie pulls Bowers away from Eddie, the action so fast it’s indescribable. Richie ends up standing on a chair with perfume in his hand. 

“ _ Eddie _ , run!” Ben shouts. He quickly gasps and clasps his hands over his mouth. 

Bowers’ head turns to face Eddie. A quick tongue darts out to lick his lips before he grins. “Eddie.” 

Richie’s wide eyes blink. “...Run!” Bowers looks back at him to say something, but Richie sprays perfume into his eyes. Eddie rips the knife out of his cheek and runs. He goes to the first place he can think of: the courtyard with the stables. He pumps his legs until he gets there, and by then the alarm has sounded. He wields the spear in threat of using it, but he truly does not know what he’s going to do. Gray Knights surround him. 

He was supposed to help Richie escape. He is supposed to slay this damned Pennywise. He has an entire future planned out for him that he doesn’t even  _ want _ , and yet bitter disappointment fills him when he realizes that just like he let his mother and Myra down, just like he undoubtedly let his father down, not only is he letting his friends down but also the entirety of Underry. Angry tears overwhelm his eyes, burn the wound in his cheek. Bowers runs into the courtyard, shouting something. 

A horrible shriek takes Eddie’s attention off of his perceived failures. A crash follows it soon after as the Rodichan breaks free from its shed for the first time since it had been placed there. It picks along the Knights, throwing them easily to the sides. It flaps its wings once, twice, over to Eddie before lowering itself to him. He flings himself onto it, in front of its wings. The Rodichan takes off then. An enraged Bowers roars at it. 

* * *

Bowers brings himself unhappily to the King. His hands wring behind his back in anxiety. His eyes are still red and horribly irritated from that awful perfume the hatter sprayed in his face. His lips taste awful and his throat burns. Yet, he still clears his throat and looks at the King. “Majesty,” he says quietly, “I regret bringing you bad news.” 

“What is it?” The King stands. The court leans forward in anticipation; they always enjoy the abuse of knights like Bowers. The King crosses his arms in anger. 

“Eddie Kaspbrak has...escaped…” 

A slap echoes around the room as the King backhands him. 

“With...the Spear of Chud…” 

Another slap. It burns Bowers’ other cheek. 

“On...the Rodichan…”

The King lets out an unintelligible roar as he slaps him a third time. His face has gone red with rage. “HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!” 

“Majesty, I know it sounds horrible, but we still have his conspirators!” Bowers tries desperately to save. “The dormouse, Benjamin Hanscom, your page, William Denbrough...and, most of all, the hatter, Richie Tozier.” 

The King barely stops to think about the sentence. He glares around the room. His subjects wince away from him. “They’ll float too. They’ll  _ all _ float!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter six! it looks like nine chapters plus an epilogue, meaning 10 chapters total. this story should be finished in the next few days! sorry i'm not just uploading all at once, it keeps my motivation going lol :)


	7. This Is Not A Dream

Eddie wakes up from the sudden jolts of the Rodichan landing. Quickly, he sits up. Despite having the bird in a terrified death grip, none of the iridescent black feathers pull out into his hands. He stretches his arms first, then slides off of the Rodichan and stretches his legs. He reaches a hesitant hand out to gently pet the Rodichan’s head. It tweets gently. The noise confounds Eddie for just a moment, that such a terrifying thing can make such an innocent sounding noise, but he accepts it. He looks around the entranceway that the bird has landed them in. Surrounding them is a lush yard, full of greenery and natural biodiversity. Under their feet is a long marble pathway lined with full trees up to an intricate castle with a variety of spires and towers jutting up asymmetrically. The white bricks are coated in moss and ivy that sprawls upwards. Flowers pop out here and there with flashes of colors to break up the green. Eddie tightens his grip on the spear as he begins to walk forward. 

The Rodichan chirps at him in a questioning tone. Eddie glances back; the bird is waiting for directions. “Oh, um,” Eddie stumbles at first, “just...go find something to eat. If I need you I’ll call okay?” The bird chirrups before shimmying away from the walkway. Eddie faces the castle once more. The bold doors are tied open by thick red rope. A court member, an older man with graying hair in a proper suit, walks by; he stops, stares down the walkway, and grins. Eddie watches his face--it’s Aloysius Nell, the man who told him and his friends about the Gray King. Mr. Nell waves and Eddie waves back before Mr. Nell continues walking. Eddie walks cautiously into the overwhelming castle. 

His feet guide him before he recognizes what he’s doing. He’s been here before: when Bill and Mike were taking them to learn about what they would need to do to defeat the Gray King. He continues past the parlor rooms to the throne room. It’s expansive marble, with the Green King’s tapestries hanging across each wall and a thick carpet running up to the throne. This throne is more modest than the one at Gris; it’s just the right size and thin, with a plush brocade cushion on the seat and the back. The Green King sits in it.

His posture is perfect. He sits with his crownless head high. Greying hair is pulled back from his face with a thin leather band securing it. His skin is a warm brown color, with matching eyes smiling at the court member he had been speaking with. His thin face exudes youthfulness, even if his body suggests otherwise. After a moment, he looks over at Eddie. His plump lips spread into a grin. A smooth voice with just a twinge of tiredness speaks, “Ah, and now we have our champion.” He stands; the forest green cloak he wears swishes behind him. Gentle hands take the spear that Eddie holds out to him and sets it in the hand of a suit of armor set to the throne’s left. He looks back at Eddie. “You’re much taller than I thought you would be.” 

Eddie shrugs. “Blame it on too much upelkuchen.” 

“Oh, well we can easily fix that. Come.” His slender and soft hand slides inside of Eddie’s to guide him through the castle. The two of them walk past a variety of rooms, doors open and unopened. Finally, they pass through a tall wooden door labeled ‘KITCHEN’. Maturin easily ducks as a ladle of soup is thrown towards them. Eddie narrowly avoids it as it slams into the door. He raises an eyebrow as he hears a familiar voice. 

“Is Mike here?” he asks. 

“Aye, I’m here!” Mike calls. “This soup isna cooperating wi’ me!” 

“Maybe add some salt?” 

“Here’s your crummy salt!” Mike throws a handful of salt into the soup before sending the shaker to follow the ladle against the door. Eddie chuckles to himself before catching up with Maturin. 

The King has settled himself on one side of a long wooden table covered in a variety of ingredients. At first glance, Eddie assumes it’s simple spices and herbs like thyme and cayenne. However, once he sees a jar full of blinded eyeballs, he realizes that he’s completely wrong and has to force himself not to throw up. Maturin lights a fire underneath a metal dish and begins to add ingredients to it. 

“So, I see you’ve met my brother,” he says gently. “What did you think of him?” 

“He’s absolutely horrid,” Eddie replies bitterly. “I don’t understand how anybody could be that cruel, to prisoners and servants alike.” 

He sighs. “I know. He’s quite horrible. But with the slaying of the Pennywise, hopefully the power will be rightfully restored to me.” 

“I hope so. What’s going into that mixture?” 

“Oh, just a few things. A cup of spiced rum, a sheaf of thynye leaves, a dead man’s eye, and three tablespoons of Wishful Thinking.” He adds the ingredients as he speaks, finishing the concoction with three scoops of a light pink cream. He stirs them all together and pours it into a teacup. “Take two sips.” 

“...There is an eyeball in there,” Eddie says with distaste. 

“Yes, but the taste is covered up by the thynye. Please, it’s pishalver, it will make you your normal size.” Eddie’s nose scrunches up, but he takes a hesitant two sips. Immediately, he shrinks back to his proper five foot nine with a minty taste in his mouth. He smiles slightly. Maturin grins back at him. “Come. Let’s get you into proper clothes. There’s someone here who would like to speak with you.” 

* * *

Richie slumps against the grimy dungeon walls.  _ Eddie would hate it here _ , he thinks. His legs are crossed underneath him. His eyes close tiredly. After Eddie’s escape with the Rodichan, Bowers threw Richie into the cell. At least he has his hat. He twirls the velvet strip in his fingers. The musty smell fills his nose. In the cell beside him is the dog that covered for him, Pomo. 

“Richie,” a soft voice says. Richie looks up to see Beverly in the cell, floating in the air. 

“Well, Beverly. Come to see me off?” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“A bit. It’s truly a tragedy to see you go. Especially since I’ve never gotten to wear this hat, like you once promised me.” Her front paws begin to knead gently at the top of the hat. “Would you bequeath it to me when you’re gone?” 

“Only if you promise to take good care of it,” he replies. He teases her a little bit with the fringe, to which she playfully bats at. 

“Of course, Rich. I would wear it to only the finest of occasions.” Her mouth splits into her trademark grin. 

* * *

Eddie is wrapped in a thin robe for the warm night and soft slippers. Maturin had given him simple directions to the garden bench above the castle’s lake: out by the kitchen, make a left at the first turn, and continue going until you see a heavy laden trellis. Eddie can’t miss it; it’s tall and full of climbing, flowering plants. Its heady perfumes fill his lungs. He takes a seat on the wrought iron bench. One glance to his left, however, startles him to the point of jumping backwards and letting out a cry. 

There, hanging upside down from this impossibly strong trellis, is Stanley. He’s encased in a hard and thick murky blue shell of sorts from the shoulders down. In his hands seems to be knitting needles, which he continues to do ever so quietly. He looks up at Eddie. “Ah, it’s you.” 

“Yes, yes, it’s me, Eddie but not that Eddie. What are you doing? Are you dying?” 

“Not dying, no. Just transforming into another life. How do you know you’re not  _ that _ Eddie?” His voice is nonchalant as his eyes return to his knitting. 

“You told me yourself.” 

“No, I said you were just hardly the Eddie you need to be. Now, in fact, seeing as you’ve survived getting here, I’d say you’re  _ almost _ Eddie.” 

“Even so, I don’t slay.” 

“You say that, yet it seems more and more like you’re accepting that you may just have to.” 

Eddie’s jaw clenches. His eyes narrow at Stanley. “I don’t think you’d appreciate it much if you had a bunch of people in your dreams demanding that you must do something.” 

“How can people demand things of you when you’re not the one they need? Hm?” Stanley tuts to himself.

“Please, Stanley. You can’t go. I need your help.” He leans forward. Stan’s eyes meet him once more. 

“How can I help you when you don’t even know who you are, foolish boy?” Stan taunts. He looks Eddie up and down with sharp, fiery eyes. 

“I’m not foolish!” Eddie snaps. He stands up to glare down at Stanley. “My name is Edward. I live in London. I have a mother named Sonia and I was supposed to be engaged to a woman named Myra. My father was Francis Kaspbrak, and he had a habit of thinking of impossible things and bringing them to life.” Revelation bubbles up in his chest. “I’m his son. I’m Eddie Kaspbrak.” 

Stanley smiles. “Eddie, at last. You were more dimwitted when you first came here, you called it Wonderry if I recall…” 

Eddie’s thoughts swirl around his mind. He sits down once more, setting his head in his hands as the memories come back to him. Building a dam in the Versidi lake… The Gray King having Eddie paint his flowers… The first tea party he had ever been to in his young life, surrounded by the first friends he had ever made… Meeting Maturin for the first time, frightened out of his wits but emboldened by his friends… and that final battle against the Gray King. Looking back, Eddie can see that they had weakened him, incredibly so. The King used to stand tall and proud, he used to tower over them and strike fear into their hearts. 

But not anymore. Eddie would not let a man as feeble hearted as the Gray King threaten him or his friends any longer. Resolve hardens in his heart, in his lungs and his mind, it spreads through every part of his body. He looks once more at Stanley. “This is not a dream,” he remarks. “Everything I’ve remembered has been  _ memories _ , which means that this place is real, and so are you and Maturin and...so is Richie.” His heart soars at that last thought. 

“So is the Pennywise,” Stanley replies. Now, Eddie, remember that the Spear of Chüd knows what it wants and how to deal with the Pennywise. All you have to do is hold it. May you travel under fair skies. We will meet again soon.” The chrysalis covers his head and he vanishes inside of it. 

* * *

The Gray King watches from high above as Tozier and Hanscom are led by Bowers to their deaths. The executioner, a burly man with a black sack over his head, is finishing hanging the nooses atop the gallows.  _ They all float _ , the King’s words echo around everyone’s minds. Surrounding them, strung up in the bare trees, are the bodies of others he’s executed. Some are still decaying, filling the yard with a rotten stench, and some are just bones now, bleached from the sun, and others still are left with nothing but a rope that’s slowly thinning from exposure. Ben’s eyes stay trained on the ground; the execution grounds have always saddened and frightened him. Richie’s own head stays bowed. 

The executioner reaches to remove the tophat from Richie’s head, but Richie cuts him off. “I’d like to keep it on, please.” His voice is full of fear, near trembling. 

“Suit yerself, s’long as I can get to yer neck,” the executioner replies. He’s strong; after all, it’s just another day on the job for him. Richie wonders just how a man can end up in a place like this, where all he does is kill and maim for another man’s pleasure. He closes his eyes. The rope is rough around his neck, menacing. 

“I’m right behind you,” Ben whispers. Richie just nods. The executioner brings down the lever to hang the hatter. Bill shrinks into the Georgies, but Georgiedum points. “Look! Billy, look!” Bill somehow pulls himself to look at the messy situation. 

His body vanishes. Slowly, the hat begins to float in the air. It flips, once, twice, and Beverly’s grinning face appears underneath it. “Good morning!” she calls brightly to the audience. 

“Bev! You dog!” Ben shouts with a grin of his own. 

“Now, Majesty, I think we should really talk about your security in that so-called prison,” Richie’s voice says as he walks up to the King’s throne from behind. He grins wickedly before sliding easily down the balustrade. He looks around at the servants. “To the abused, and enslaved in the Gray Kings Court! Stand up and fight with me, with  _ us _ !  _ Ayish co Strak Grish _ !” 

The abused and enslaved cry out, “ _ Ayish co Strak Grish _ !” 

“RELEASE THE LEOLFZHE!” The King roars. A hideous creature barrels out from a cage hidden in the walls of the yard. It’s a hulking mass covered in brown fur with an enlarged jaw. It snarls, revealing sharp teeth along its wolfy muzzle. The top of its head is cracked open. A yellowing skull lays underneath it, coated in a matching yellow mucus. Rotting flesh covers half its face from whatever disease is ravaging it. Thick claws reach for anyone near it. 

“Come!” Richie shouts. His hand is waving over Bill, Ben, and the Georgies. They run to him while he and Bev wrench open the iron back gate. Servants and other prisoners funnel out behind them. Scattering to the winds means the King can’t find them all. The poorly trained Leolfzhe fails to attack the ones fleeing, and instead turns on the ones staying. Court members cry out in pain and agony as the creature rips into them. 

* * *

Eddie sits on a third floor balcony, attached to the room Maturin has graciously given him. He observes the castle grounds; Macros, Maturin has informed him, is the name of his castle. The King stands beside Eddie, watching as well. They’ve been discussing how the Green King runs his court, how he’s developed a passion for healing. Maturin asks Eddie softly--always so soft spoken, he is--what Eddie’s plans are after the Frabjous Day. 

“I wish I knew,” Eddie replies. His tone stops Maturin from prodding any more. Eddie’s eyes squint to see the figures walking up the lane, while Maturin simply uses the telescope in front of him. 

“Have a look,” Maturin encourages. He slides the telescope to Eddie. Peering inside of it, he sees Bill and the Georgies walking ahead of Ben and Richie, separated by a small dog walking between them. Eddie’s heart leaps into his throat. He stands and rushes down to meet them. 

Maturin kneels down to hug the Georgies and Bill for being safe. Eddie, however, runs directly to the hatless Richie. He smiles. “You’re safe. I thought…” 

“Well I quite thought so too, but look, here I am, unharmed!” His voice is enthusiastic, but a manic edge clearly sets him off. “And I’m rather glad to be seeing you again, since we never really got to say goodbye of course, and also since you’re you, of course you’re always you you know, I mean more so that you’re you sized, not tall or small but your size, the right proper Eddie size!” 

“Beep beep,” Eddie breathes. He sets a gentle hand on Richie’s cheek, the touch soft and cool from the day spent in the home of the Green Court. Richie looks down at him, and yes, Eddie is truly at his perfect size, it fits him in every way that being too tall or too short doesn’t. Eddie’s eyes are ever so captivating, so lovely and boisterous and  _ proud _ of himself and he should be, he has every right to be, he’s  _ Eddie _ for Others sake, how could he ever not be proud and so--

“Richie. Talk to me.” Eddie’s voice brings him back down from the clouds of mania that threaten to overwhelm him--that have always threatened to overwhelm him--and he and his friends have tried everything to stop Richie from falling in too deep yet everything Eddie says tethers him down to the earth in a way nobody else ever has before--

Eddie’s thumb runs along Richie’s cheekbone. The dazed look in his eyes finally recedes as he croaks softly, “I’m fine.” Eddie just stares at him for a moment longer. 

Their lips crash together. 


	8. Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick tw for internalized homophobia in this chapter, it's minor but it's still important

Richie’s lips are cracked, but warm. He tastes of tea and sugar and something that fills Eddie’s head with indecent thoughts. Eddie, on the other hand, tastes like the turkey that Maturin had set up for dinner and the wine that went with it. Even though he’s not had any of the wine himself, Eddie’s lips are enough to make his head swim with intoxication. Richie slots himself into every part of Eddie’s touch. Eddie lets him. Eddie’s free hand slides up into Richie’s thick curls, twisting to keep a hold of a lock of his hair. Richie’s hands rest on his hips, relaxed for the first time since he’d seen Eddie at tea time. _Was that only a few days ago_ ? He thinks to himself. _It feels like so long. He’s changed so much and yet all that’s ever been him and mattered about him has stayed the same_. 

Eddie inhales Richie--he stinks, really, from the cells of Gris, but underneath all of that is still the musk of Richie, of a man who works too hard because if he’s not working then he’s thinking too much and if he’s thinking too much he’ll fall off of the ledge with no one to catch him. He’s still _Richie_ , the kid he met so long ago, the kid he thought was an untouchable, unattainable dream only to become this amazing reality. Eddie breaks away first; he stares up into Richie’s eyes, now a color almost white, before his mind starts working too much. 

He pulls away from Richie’s embrace. He looks at the others, fear spreading through him at the mortifying idea of being seen as a _sodomist_ . One look from Maturin, though, and it calms him. In the Green King’s eyes are the words that Eddie once read from journalist Karl Heinrich Ulrichs, that he’s been hoping to see once more ever since: _it’s okay for a man to love a man_. Eddie’s gaze falls on Richie again before he takes his hand. Richie looks dazed again, like he’s thinking too hard, but Eddie’s touch grounds him once more. Eddie finally greets the other four, and the dog--Pomo, he declares his name to be. 

When all is said and done, Eddie leads Richie up to his room. To _their_ room. 

* * *

The next day is Frabjous Day. Eddie’s stomach revolts against him during the breakfast that Richie makes for them, even though Richie is a truly lovely cook. Around noon, a servant comes to tell them of the Green King calling for an audience. They go down in freshly laundered clothes, hand in hesitant hand. Richie positions them slightly behind Maturin. In the crowd facing them, Eddie can spot their friends: Mike and Bill holding hands beside the Georgies, Bev and Ben standing next to each other. 

“My gracious court,” Maturin begins, “I come to you today with the request for a champion. A champion to defeat the Pennywise and remove the Gray King, my brother, from the throne. We know I cannot do it, for it is against my vows.” 

“I will do it,” Richie declares. He steps up, away from Eddie’s terrified hand. 

“No, me,” Georgiedee says, holding up a wooden sword. 

“No, me,” Georgiedum retorts with a matching sword. 

“I’ll do it,” Ben says calmly. 

“You must consult the Luscina,” a deep, smooth voice states. A tall man steps through the crowd, with beautiful, shimmery blue butterfly wings stretching out behind him and two thin antennae on his head. Stanley looks from the Green King to Eddie. “The Luscina tells us who the champion must be.” 

Maturin nods. He sets the Luscina on a low table in front of him, flipping open to the page of today. He sighs softly. 

“No other way, no how,” Georgiedum says softly. 

“If it ain’t Eddie, it ain’t dead,” Georgiedee confirms morosely. 

Eddie nods. “I will be your champion.” Maturin inclines his head to him. Together, the champion and his friends walk back into Macros to prepare for the battle. 

* * *

Eddie manages his way into the polished armor. It hangs around him like a heavy carapace, with chainmail wrapped around his joints where the armor separated. He has no helmet, so all he can do is look at himself in the mirror. 

Richie comes up behind him. “You look like you’re going to be ill.” 

“I think I might be.” 

“Well I wouldn’t recommend vomiting in that. It’s awful to remove.” 

Eddie chuckles nervously. “We should...talk. About last night.” 

“I know.” Richie’s arms encircle around Eddie’s waist. “Especially if you’re going to leave after this.” 

“I’m not sure I have a choice, Rich.”

“You’ll always have a choice. And I’ll always be here if you choose to stay. Now come on, or else we’ll be late. Not good fashion to be late to a battle, not at all.” Richie pecks Eddie’s cheek before walking out of the room. Eddie sighs once more at himself. Then, he grabs the Spear, adjusts the shield on his arm, and walks out as well. 

* * *

The Rodichan flies low ahead of the Green King’s horse. Behind them marches the King’s soldiers uniformly. Richie and the others ride between the King and the soldiers. The wind ruffles through Eddie’s uncombed hair; unabashed fear rips through his entire body. It leaves him covered in goosebumps. The Rodichan lands with a solid thunk on the battlefield. The field itself is massive, a place that once was probably a beautiful meadow. The grass is yellow and dead. Flowers do not grow here, probably haven’t for several decades. Trees are here and there, but are gnarled and twisted. To the left is a lulling ocean, with stone ruins on the beach. The ruins crawl up towards the sky; they’re unbalanced, with broken arches along the winding stairs and through what Eddie could only guess used to be rooms. Maturin comes to a stop beside him. He descends from his horse and nods at Eddie. The other six round up behind them. 

On the opposite side of the field, the Gray King is carried in a cushioned, canopied litter by four tired-looking servants. Bowers is riding alongside him. Gray Knights hold up silver banners with a heavy black symbol: a small dash above a line, then a parallel line beneath that connected by a slanting line. Bowers helps the King stand once he lowers from his horse. The King and Bowers walk over together, midway to meet with Maturin and Eddie. They stop about fifteen feet from each other. 

“Robert,” Maturin greets kindly. 

The Gray King turns his nose up at him. “Maturin,” he seethes. 

Bill hops in between them; Mike gives him a smile of encouragement. Bill clears his throat; carefully, he speaks, “On this, the Frabjous Day, the Kings Green and Gray bring forth their champions to battle on their behalf for the main crown of Underry.” 

_He doesn’t always stutter_ , Eddie thinks to himself. _When he’s confident, he doesn’t stutter_. 

“We needn’t fight,” Maturin tries to explain. 

“It’s _my_ crown!” Gray snaps angrily. “ _I_ am the eldest! PENNYWISE!” His roar shudders through the wind, through the trees, to disturb something that’s been sleeping for much too long. The ground rumbles as it wakes for the first time in living memory. Thundering footsteps follow an enraged roar. Gray and Bowers step back to the Gray Knights to prepare for battle. Eddie takes two fearful steps back, but he steadies his grip on the Spear and straightens up. Bill, Mike, and Maturin return to the Green Army. 

The Pennywise steps onto the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last update for tonight! tomorrow you'll have chapter nine and the epilogue :) see you all then!


	9. All Grown Up

The Pennywise is horrible, a monstrous thing. It has the gaze of something that has been alive for too long, even if it’s been dormant. Its long head has tufts of bright orange hair sticking out on the sides. Its face is bleached bone white, with drifting amber eyes that quickly lock onto the Spear in Eddie’s hand. Its nose is bulbous and red. Pooling drool drips from blood red lips; sharp, stalagmite-like teeth jut from its gaping maw. Around its torso is a ruffled silvery top. A spider-like abdomen provides six legs for it to walk with. At the end of each leg is a thick, dangerous claw like bizarre stilts. Two long, heavy looking arms swing limply in front of it with each step. It crawls to the center of the field, to meet Eddie. It looks down at him; a long tongue drags along both of its lips. Eddie steps out of the way of a heavy drool drop. 

“Ah, my manxome foe,” it hisses between its teeth. 

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “We’ve never met.” 

“Not  _ you _ , insignificant bearer. The ancient one, the Spear of Chüd.” A heavy hand reaches out to strike the spear; without Eddie’s conscious notice, the spear jerks up and pierces the Pennywise. 

_ Six impossible things _ , Eddie thinks. His feet begin to move on impulse. He does not think of what he is doing, because thinking threatens his movements, his defense against the Pennywise. 

_ One: animals can talk _ . 

The battle begins behind him as he runs toward the ruins. Richie runs forwards with a heavy longsword against Bowers. He swings, which Bowers ducks away from deftly. The clash of their swords echoes around the field. Mike follows Richie close behind.

_ Two: there’s a potion that can make you shrink.  _

Bev attacks the Duchess Kersh, an awful witch that once tricked her and almost ate her. Bev’s claws sink deeply into her neck. 

_ Three: a cake that can make you grow. _

Ben runs his rapier through the leolfzhe, slicing it in half and leaving it for dead. 

_ Four: cats can disappear.  _

Stan’s wings carry him over the field to keep a careful eye. When he sees things too skewed to the Gray King, he steps in and helps the Green side. He’s fast, in and out with the blink of an eye. One eye is always on the Kings. 

_ Five: there is a place called Wonderry. _

Mike’s heavy sword slides across the shoulders of Henry Bowers. His head lands to the ground with a heavy thunk. One last garbled word burbles from his mouth.

_ Six: I can slay the Pennywise. _

Eddie, having wound his way around the ruins, faces the Pennywise. He lets out an angry roar. The Spear flies from his hand into the open mouth of the Pennywise, right to its throat. Its struggling movements--or maybe it’s just the Spear itself--causes it to wind around its throat until its huge head falls from its neck. It bounces down each of the stairs. Its dead eyes roll upwards, its mouth slightly open. Gray stares at it with incredulity. 

His gaze snaps up to Eddie. “You’ll float too! You are insignificant children on this earth!” he shouts. He holds his sceptre with its encompassing golden light towards the man walking down the ruins. The effect is immediate: Eddie goes limp, his eyes roll backwards, his jaw goes slack. Richie’s heart pumps into his throat with anxiety. His sword drops from his hands. 

Bill, enraged and sick, so utterly  _ sick _ of King Robert Gray and his too long reign of terror, snatches up Richie’s sword. He screams as he plunges the sword through the cage of the sceptre, through Gray’s so-called “Deadlights”. “No! We’re all grown up!” The words rip from Bill before he even realizes it. Gray gasps. The sceptre drops from his hands. Slowly, his skin begins to flake away. He becomes dust in the wind, just a villain lost to Underry’s history. There is no body left, only clothes. But the crown floats gingerly through the air to rest on Maturin’s head. Beverly reveals herself as the source. She smiles tiredly, leaning against Ben. Mike and Bill wrap their arms around each other's waists. Richie sprints forward to catch Eddie as he falls from the ruins. 

* * *

When Eddie wakes again, he sees his friends and Maturin surrounding him. Blearily, he remembers asking if they won, to which Richie, holding his head, laughs and confirms it for him. Richie’s shaking hands run through Eddie’s hair. Maturin holds up a small vial of thick black liquid.  _ This will take you back to aboveground, if that’s what you want, _ he says. 

Eddie stares up at Richie as he thinks. Richie smiles.  _ You always have a choice _ , Eddie remembers. He closes his eyes with a heavy sigh.  _ What’s in the vial _ ? He asks. 

_ The Pennywise’s blood _ . 

_ Like hell I’m drinking that. _ Laughter echoes around him. The vial is pressed into his hand gently. He feels the weight and coolness of it in his hand. He takes a deep breath, a breath full of things he will never say, a breath full of a life he will never experience. 

He throws the vial away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! sorry it's so short, but i like to think it encompasses all that it needs to. next chapter is the epilogue!


	10. Epilogue: All in the Golden Afternoon

The soft dawn light lands on Eddie’s face, waking him up. He lets out a short huff of irritation. He holds his arm up to block the sun; it’s healed now. It’s been healed for almost a year. It’s been a year, and so much has changed. He knows he will have to think about it all later, so he puts it out of his mind for right now. Instead, he sits up. He does a cursory glance over the bedroom to make sure nothing is out of place before his eyes land on the sleeping form next to him. The light, still slightly hazy from the thin fog that comes with living on a hill, catches the colors in Richie’s curls regardless. His face is smooth for once, his wrinkles wiped away by the carefree nature of sleep. His skin has gotten tanner, not quite so pale anymore, from helping Eddie build the house and helping around the town. His lips aren’t cracked anymore; sitting at tea time for what feels like eternity will do that to you. Instead, they’re soft, a gentle pink that Eddie thinks about nearly every day. When Richie opens his eyes, Eddie knows they will be dark--his dreams are always hard--but the second they land on Eddie, they will lighten and Richie will give him that bright, fond grin. Eddie’s fingers gently rest in Richie’s curls. Love swells in his heart, in his head, in his entire body. Every part of him is intertwined with Richie. 

Richie stirs, finally. His eyes flutter open and he blinks a few times. They’re darker than usual, which worries Eddie, but they become an ice color when he sees Eddie. Richie yawns and then smiles at him. He sits up, stretching his long limbs, before kissing Eddie’s cheek. They don’t speak much in the mornings, for Eddie’s sake--he’s never been one for the mornings. Richie just begins to go through their routine. He dresses, combs through his hair quickly, and sets his hat carefully on his head. He kisses Eddie’s cheek once more before going downstairs to make breakfast. Eddie is slower. He takes his time to wake up. He stands in front of their balcony doors. Down below is their backyard garden, separated into two different sections: both are colorful, but one is for flowers and natural biodiversity while the other half is for their produce. Insects buzz and bounce around. Small mammals run along the ground. Eddie watches the wind gently shake the willow tree in the center of their yard, the silent and still lake that spreads out behind the tree. 

After a few moments, he finally tears himself away and gets dressed. While their bedroom isn’t the largest, it’s cozy. Their wide bed is covered by a thick quilt Ben had gifted to them. A small nightstand sits on either side of the bed. Their walnut wardrobe is carved beautifully, but with no symbolism to the carvings ( _ thankfully _ , Eddie thought when they received it). It sits across from their bed. On the right wall, Richie’s side, are French doors that give them the full view of their land. The balcony is small, but it’s enough for them to sit side by side on warm nights with cups of tea. Next to the wardrobe is a tall bookshelf, full of books from Mike and Bill that Eddie eagerly consumed to understand Underry culture and history more. Eddie walks through the bedroom door, which is attached directly to stairs down into their parlor. Their parlor has two couches and a few chairs around a low table for gatherings. The windows are covered by sheer peach curtains, which Eddie pulls open before making his way into the kitchen. He passes two doors, one being Eddie’s study and the other being Richie’s workshop. 

Heavenly smells come from the kitchen. Eddie smiles to himself. One of the best things about Richie is certainly that he never lets Eddie go hungry, and his meals are much better than his mother’s bland porridge. The kitchen is also much more homey than the parlor, since it’s where Richie displays most of their gifts. The cabinets are crooked, yes, and the stove is old, but it fills Eddie with pride to see it. In one corner is a large case with a window, showing their fine china and the beautiful set of tea ware that Maturin had given them as a housewarming gift. Herbs are strung up to dry, pots and pans hang from the fixture in the middle of their ceiling, and patterned curtains are open against the small windows. The back door is cracked open with a rock to let air flow through. The scent of the Underry morning lulls Eddie. He wraps his arms around Richie’s waist and sets his head on Richie’s shoulder. Richie kisses his head before holding a plate of food out to him. 

* * *

After breakfast and tending the garden, Eddie sets his hat on his head and walks out of the front door. Houses and shops are dotted along Tozier Hill. While Eddie was recuperating from the battle, he discussed the idea with Maturin before the two of them surprised Richie with the idea. Richie and Eddie were going to build their own house on Tozier Hill, and live there, with each other until they decided they wanted a change. When Eddie had suggested that maybe they could start a small village there, Richie broke down with happiness. Of course, he agreed, and now there are several houses and a few shops (usually underneath more apartments) along Tozier Hill. Eddie’s feet take him to the baker. He collects three loaves of bread and drops them off to three houses: one with Mike, Bill, and the Georgies, one with Ben and Bev (Bev pounces on Eddie with a big hug when he arrives), and one with Stanley and his wife, Patty. Eddie sits to talk with Stan for a bit--Stan always calms him down. Patty confirms that yes, they will be coming to the party later, and ushers Eddie off with a small pack of cheese from their goat. Richie is downright gleeful when Eddie provides it to him. He makes them a quick snack to tide them over until teatime. 

* * *

Richie sets the table in their front garden. He covers it with a freshly laundered cotton cloth. He sets the tea set from Maturin down before covering the open spots with another set. He prunes any overgrown leaves and flowers to keep the tall, plant covered walls from feeling suffocating. He trims the trellis entrance to prevent vines from drooping into the guests’ faces. The sun, high over the sky now, shines down brightly onto him. Once he finishes making the food for it, he sets that out, too. 

* * *

The friends gather again, on the year anniversary of the battle. Eddie spent the day being celebrated by the townsfolk, so sitting with his friends who helped him accomplish it all quells his anxiety. Maturin is there, as well, but he doesn’t say much. They chat, they eat, they drink their tea. They laugh, they reminisce. Most of all, though, they are able to simply sit and enjoy this golden afternoon together. And when teatime is over, Eddie will return to the house with Richie, and they will bask in the cool white of the moon tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title of this comes from Lewis Carroll's poem. thank you all so much for reading! I know it's not the longest fic, but I don't think it really needed to be. This is also a personal milestone in that a) it's my first ever fic to be posted, and b) it's actually the first story of any kind that I've ever finished! thank you for sticking with me this far! once again, you can find me on twitter at @tozier_xo :)


End file.
